


The Journal of Maglor

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Maglor [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:06:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maglor sets out to chronicle the lives of his family, as his uncle had done before him, but his best intentions are continuously side-tracked by the exasperating idiot who thrills in being his doom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journal of Maglor

“Pride may well have been our downfall,

But without pride we would never have scaled the heights we did.”  


* * *

Glossary:

Mother names are commonly used in the Journal. The only exception is Maedhros, who is called as ‘Russandol’ by his uncle and Maglor while the others call him ‘Maitimo’. 

m- mother name, f – father name

Feanor – Fëanáro(m), Curufinwë(f)  
Fingolfin- Nolofinwë  
Finarfin - Arafinwë  
Maedhros – Maitimo(m) – Russandol(Fingolfin gives this name) – Nelyafinwë(f)  
Maglor – Macalaurë(m) – Canafinwë(f) – Kano( Maedhros calls him thus)  
Galadriel – Artanis(m) – Nerwen(f) – Altariel(Celeborn gives this name)  
Turgon – Turkáno  
Fingon – Findekáno  
Finrod – Findaráto  
Curufin – Atarinkë  
Celegorm - Tyelkormo  
Caranthir - Carnistro  
Aredhel – Irissë

 

Places East of the Sea:  
The Cuiviénen – The Lake where the first elves were awakened.  
Doriath – Thingol’s kingdom  
Mithlond – Círdan’s kingdom  
Mithrim – Where the hosts of the Noldor camped during their first years of Exile  
Hithlum – Fingolfin’s castle called ‘Barad Eithel’ was located here.  
Maglor’s Gap – Lands between the rivers Gelion which was ruled by Maglor.  
Himring – Maedhros ruled here. Situated on a mountain facing Angband.  
Nargothrond – Finrod ruled here.  
Gondolin – Turgon’s hidden kingdom.  
Angband – The land of Morgoth.  
Thangorodrim – The jagged rocks from where Maedhros was hung.  
Nan Elmoth – Here was lost Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin.  
Sirion – Elwing of Doriath lived here under the guardianship of Círdan.  
Eregion – Celebrimbor’s kingdom.  
Lindon the Fair – City of Gil-Galad, High-King of the Noldor.

 

Places West of the Sea:  
Tanequetil – The mountain where Varda and Manwë live.  
Valinor – The abode of the Valar.  
Tirion – The High-City of the Noldor of Valinor.  
Alqualondë – The capital city of the Teleri of Valinor.  
Mandos – The Halls of Death, called so after the god of death, Namo Mandos.

* * *

* * *

**THE JOURNAL OF MAGLOR**

I am numb. I am weary. I am lost.

 

I glared at the words as I wrote them, my flowing script seemed unusually halting and coarse. As if they were reluctant to trespass on another’s property.

 

“He is dead”, I spoke to the dog-eared, yet well-preserved red leather bound journal, “He is dead and I shall write from today.”

 

“Are you all right?” A woman’s voice prodded me away from my foolish conversation with my uncle’s journal.

 

“I am fine, Carnilote”, I sighed as I looked up at her enchanting figure framed in the doorway, “I merely feel tired. It has been a long journey and fraught with much danger.”

 

“I too am weary”, she nodded, “I shall retire now. Your brother’s aides have been most kind to me. Thank him for me should you see him before you retire.”

 

I grunted and returned to the journal. Leaning back in the chair, I mused ironically that there was some primal justice in this. I would continue to keep the Journal. My uncle had faithfully recorded the tale of our house, and the tale of his own perversion. Now it shall be my task to do that.

xxx

 

 

The cold winter of Hithrim did little to improve my spirits. My wife had left for Findekáno’s palace, her father had died in the war and she wished to join her family in the mourning. Of course, I was invited. But I had no wish to see Findekáno. I find it hard to forgive Findekáno’s regard for my brother.

 

I am busy with the various administrative tasks of the castle. I make it a point to never find myself alone with my elder brother. The terms of our last parting, on the day of my wedding, still causes much bitterness in me.

 

But when one is in a lion’s den, one cannot forever avoid seeing the lion.

 

“Brother”, he nodded to me as he entered my study.

 

For a moment, we stared at each other. He had risked all to keep the Pass of Aglon open so that I could join him in Himring. He had dared the dragon. But the dragon, understandably, had other plans than attempting to face the feyest son of Fëanáro.

 

“You look weary”, he broke the silence almost hesitantly, his turmoil-filled grey eyes measuring me.

 

I raised an eyebrow, taking in his gaunt, spectral form towering above me, only the narrow desk separating us. There were dark circles underneath his eyes. He certainly was in no position to accuse me of weariness.

 

“May I sit down?” he asked quietly.

 

I nodded; he sighed as he drew a chair across me and seated himself. His eyes fell on the book that lay between us on the table.

 

“Nolofinwë’s Journal”, he murmured, “What is it doing here?”

 

Of course he would know, I thought absently, he had been the closest to our fallen uncle. He knew almost everything about Nolofinwë’s life.

 

“I find it most interesting”, I said serenely, my calm in the face of anything is my greatest weapon. Adversaries can never break down my serenity.

 

Right then, I was curious. Would my brother demand to see it, or would he try to suppress his zeal?

 

“I would be happy if you were to dine with me.” His grey eyes searched mine,“I find myself in much need of company.”

 

So he was keen to bury the past and return to our old bonds of brotherhood. What else had I expected? That he had changed his mind? As foolish as it seems, I had clung to a tiny, warm flicker of hope. He had succoured me, not the rest of our brothers or cousins. He had come to my rescue. A part of me had hoped that he wished to save me for reasons other than brotherhood.

 

“If you find yourself in need of company, brother”, I said with a lethal dose of my father’s sarcasm, which only I had inherited perfectly, “Then I suggest that you marry.”

 

His eyes widened at the unaccustomed rudeness and he said quietly, “Certainly, Macalaurë, are we not wise enough to forgive each other?”

 

“If wisdom had any part in all of this”, I said bitterly, “Then we would never be in these lands. I would be the minstrel at the court of Tirion and you would have presented your heir to the family.”

 

He leant forward and fingered the spine of the journal before saying quietly, “Is your forgiveness harder to claim than the forgiveness of the people I have slain?”

 

xxx

 

I am now on bare talking terms with my brother. He has made no overtures to initiate a conversation between us after the incident regarding the journal. I hate myself, but I remain stubborn, restricting myself to the simplest of courtesies whenever I interact with him. For his part, he has retreated further into his shell, spending half his time in a dreary contemplation of the cragged peaks of Thangorodrim.

 

I was shocked when one evening, he came to seek me out in my study again. My brother has never been one to grovel repeatedly at the feet of a person who does not deserve his time. And I am sure that I most certainly am not worth his time.

 

“A letter from Artanis”, he said briskly, “She sent us one each. I came by to give you the one meant for you. I am sure you would want to read it immediately.”

 

Artanis, I smiled as the memories rose in my mind, my dearest cousin. Had I not been cursed to love my brother, I would have fallen in love with her. Proud, undaunted and wise, she is an enigma.

 

I was so eager to read her letter that I did not notice the closing of the door as my brother left.

 

 

“Dearest Macalaurë,

 

I write from Doriath. The messengers will take this to my brother in Nargothrond and from there, I assume, Findaráto will send it along to you.

 

I could not find it in myself to stay in Barad Eithel after Nolofinwë’s death. I wished to wait for news of Irissë. But I fear there shall be no news at all. I travelled to Doriath on Maitimo’s advice. And I am glad that I did.

 

I have made wonderful acquaintances here. Melian the Maia and the Queen of this land is a wise soul. She has much to teach me. And I have understood much. Not the least of which is that we suffer because Finwë refused to honour Míriel’s memory. No person who spurns one who loves him shall atone enough. Finwë deserved to be slaughtered. And as his descendants, we deserve to know no peace”

 

 

I stopped reading and rose to my feet. Confused at the harsh words I had just read, I walked to my brother’s study. He was poring over a large map of Beleriand, his features drawn in concentration.

 

“This Maia has given her strange ideas”, I said worriedly, for Artanis has always been my closest confidante, “What does she mean with this cruel condemnation of self and family?”

 

“I think that is better than what she had to write to me”, Russandol answered without looking up.

 

“What was that?” I asked curiously.

 

“One who forces himself on another shall die a death of flames, he shall know pain thrice over that of his hapless victim…and there shall be no reprieve”, he quoted succinctly, “I do agree with her though.”

 

“Russandol”, he flinched, I had not called him that for years. I cursed my lowered defences and ploughed on, “Our father died in flames. Our grandfather died in flames. Nolofinwë died in flames.”

 

“I suppose that makes her words true.” He sighed as his grey eyes met mine, “Our grandfather did not remain loyal to his vows. Our father too. And Nolofinwë did force himself on many a warrior who had to keep quiet since he was the son of a King, and then a King.”

 

I did see the reasoning. But then, I thought dully, if the same measures were to be used to judge all, then Morgoth would never stop burning in the flames. Though, I did not point this out to my brother.

 

xxx

 

Oaths and vows shall be the end of us all. My younger brothers drown their disillusions in their hunting and whoring. Tyelkormo, in particular, has been in dark spirits. I know that Russandol worries about him. For my part, I have never cared about them, to me they are not family. Carnistro’s affair with the fiery leader of humans, Lady Haleth, had softened him. But after her death, he has become more fey than ever. Atarinkë spends his time convincing Findaráto to give the humans who stay in his lands no quarter. The twins rarely send epistles. Russandol remarks that they believe by staying away, they can renounce the past.

 

From Turkáno, there are occasional missives, all of which are addressed to Russandol. I take it that he is well and his realm is flourishing. There has been no news of Aredhel though. Findekáno’s rule has taken hold and removed the last traces of his father’s kingdom.

 

I do not wish to acknowledge this, but that does not make it any less true. Nolofinwë had been the uniting factor. With his death, we are all inexorably drifting away from each other.

 

xxx

 

“Artanis seems to be in love”, Russandol remarked as he joined me for supper in the dimly lit chamber.

 

It had begun tentatively, with him trying to ease the situation between us. He would ask me to accompany him on rides, on tours of the castle and councils. In the beginning, I would not give in to his earnest invitations. But then, I followed him, as I had always done…as it seems to be my lot to do.

 

“Indeed”, I shoved the bread basket towards him, “I had a letter from Findaráto that spoke of a Sindar someone. I wonder what she sees in them. Uncivilized pagans, I must say.”

 

“Macalaurë”, he sighed, “How many times do I have to tell the lot of you that the Sindar are not pagans and they are certainly not uncivilized?”

 

“Curufinwë, Findaráto and the rest of our kin disagree”, I shrugged, “And they have had far more interactions with the Sindar than you have.”

 

“I have known many Sindar”, he said cryptically, “And I must say that they are as brave as us, if not more.”

 

I sighed, once more, I had failed to pick up his oblique reference to Angband. Of course, he had learnt Sindarin and their customs from the other captives, the ones who had never been lucky enough to be rescued….or should I say they had been lucky to die?

 

xxx

 

I found my brother walking aimlessly along the ramparts of the castle, his head bowed in thought. Wondering why I had sought him, I strode forward.

 

“Brother”, he smiled, a fleeting quirk of lips, before his face fell into its usual thoughtful mien again, “A starless night.”

 

I defiantly turned west and looked up at the clouded skies. I would never face the Thangorodrim if I could help it.

 

He seemed to have noticed my gesture, for he chuckled and fondly murmured something that suspiciously sounded like, “My Kano.”

 

He would call me by that endearment only when I was guilty of extreme foolishness or when I had done something that touched him to the core.

 

I turned to face him, a strange vulnerability hung about him. I had seen the expression in his eyes thus only after he had been brought back from his captivity.

 

“I had word from Carnilote”, I said resolutely, to remind myself of what I could not risk, “She wishes to travel to Círdan’s lands. They met during the great feast and they have a good friendship.”

 

“I will ask Findekáno to send her with a goodly escort”, he replied after a long moment of silence, “I do not want anyone travelling alone in these lands. They have taken enough from us, I feel.”

 

We stood by the fortifications, side-by-side, watching the clouds glide with the cold gusts of wind.

 

“Macalaurë”, he said quietly, “I know I made a bold assumption that you would not wish to accompany your lady on her journey, it is that I am reluctant to part with your company, brother.”

 

“I will stay”, I said bleakly, “As long as you wish me to.”

xxx

* * *

I watched the warriors duelling in the courtyard. Their toned muscles glistened with sweat as they fought with the precision gained from experience and skill. I knew I should be inside the castle, looking over the latest correspondence from our kin. But there was something entirely enticing about the duel. Maybe it was the almost primal expression in the eyes of the fighting warriors, the way their exposed upper torsos glided against each other as they swerved and tackled.

“They are lovers”, an amused voice commented from behind me. 

“I see”, I said noncommittally, trying to arrange my features into polite disinterest, “Well, brother, you certainly do keep up with the rumour mills.”

“A lonely invalid has little else to do, especially when he is being cold-shouldered by kin and kith”, he lamented as he sat down on the steps beside me, settling to watch the duel.

“If you had chosen a better location, you might have ended up with more kin in your proximity”, I reminded him sternly.

“Perhaps”, he conceded lazily, “but all I wished to do was to make sure that my brothers and cousins got safer realms. I chose the worst”, he gestured elegantly at the snow-capped, bare trees, “And what do they manage to do? Come a dragon, and they scatter like cotton wisps. Cousins get killed and missing, uncle gets killed, brothers scamper off to other realms…and I stand alone on my cold mountain.”

“Even the dragon had better sense than to attack a cold mountain”, I sarcastically pointed out, “Which means it was more sensible than you.”

“I held the Pass open when all else had given hope”, he continued blithely, his grey eyes shimmering with rarely seen mischief as he baited me, “And what did I gain?”

“A fey reputation”, I grumbled, I could not resist him when he was brooding. By heavens, how am I supposed to resist him when he is in such fine spirits?

“Indeed”, he laughed, his merriment causing the duellers to stop their mock battle and spare their ruler a fond glance, “And the lands have gained my name, they call it The March of Maedhros.”

“They spoiled a fine name”, I said with disgust, “Findaráto has a lot to answer for when I see him again. Only his humans could have spoilt ‘Maitimo’ for ‘Maedhros’.”

“Ah, brother”, he said innocently, “Not everyone can have your wonderful grasp of tongues. You must be patient and forgiving with us, lesser souls that we are.”

“Flattery is not going to get you anywhere”, I said with far less conviction than I would have wished my voice to carry, why do I fail to draw a line with my brother?

“I was not flattering you”, he said resignedly, “I was merely trying to convey that my heroic defense at the Pass earned me nothing but years of trailing a much-loved brother in hope of reconciliation.”

The fight came to an end as one of the warriors toppled the other and straddled the vanquished in a classic show of dominance. I averted my eyes firmly as they went through the subtle foreplay, their glistening bodies shining in the noon sun making me uncomfortably aware of my brother who sat next to me.

“I shall be going then”, Russandol said quietly as he rose to his feet, “I have to get ready for leading the warriors for the sweep of our eastern borders.”

I nodded as he moved away. He had come so damnably close to breaking the walls of polite indifference I had erected around myself. What would I do if he succeeded? 

 

xxx

 

I have little to be proud of myself. But I have never hated myself as much I do this day. What kind of soul am I? To love my own blood brother. I hated myself. I cursed myself. I cursed my parents for having created me. I cursed the Fates for having made my life so cursed.

I am married. I should do my duty and sire a heir for our house instead of dithering in my brother’s realm like a child longing for the moon.

“MY LORD!” the aide rushed in, his face glistening with sweat in the flickering candle light, “LORD NELYAFINWË HAS TAKEN AN ARROW!”

And I know why I can never leave him. The pain and worry that flared through my blood when I heard the news probably was worse than the pain of the arrow that he had taken. Will it or not, my fate is bound to that of my brother.

 

We prepared the healing halls as they brought the wounded in. I stood on the courtyard surveying the scene. Nobody was hurt gravely and we had not lost a life. My brother has a reputation of saving his warriors from all that he could.

I hurried down as he rode into the courtyard, his face sickly pale in the moonlight from the loss of blood. He let go of the reins and slumped down into my hold. Worriedly, I inspected his mail suit, the arrow had pierced one of its blind spots, and went in cleanly through the flesh. He had pulled it out, but had not been able to staunch the bloodflow.

 

We carried him into his chambers, and laid him on his bed. The healer sent the warriors away with murmured reassurances that the wound was not deep. I hurried to his side and waited impatiently. He motioned to me to help him removed the heavy mail suit from the half-conscious form of my brother. I hastily complied.

As we removed the mailsuit, I noticed that Russandol was trying to pull himself into an upright position and fumbling for his sword.

“Brother”, I said soothingly, “You are home.”

“I am exiled”, he whispered, “I no longer have a home.”

“Delirium”, the healer said gravely, “The bloodloss has cost him much energy. He will need to rest and recover. I will leave a sleeping draught for him, My Lord. And we should have someone here all night to administer the draught.”

“Will you not be here?” I asked querulously, “You are the healer, after all!”

“There are many others in a graver situation in the healing halls. It is the Lord’s command that I render my aid to those who need it the most”, the healer whispered, “I would stay, but I fear his wrath. Shall I send a warrior over?”

“Yes”, I sighed, “His second in command”, I knew the warrior and could trust him implicitly with my brother’s care. 

xxx

 

I did not retire, instead moved to my study and began reading the latest letters from Artanis. She has always held a place in my cold heart. I am guilty of loving her more than I love my wife. As I devoured the letter, I wondered who this famed Silver Tree was. She was enthusiastically describing his valour, beauty, wisdom, nobility and chivalry. I really do not believe that a single person can possess so many attributes at their best.

But she is in love, and I must make allowances for her lack of coherence. The letter had none of her usual clarity and often harsh, introspective language. It was wild, haphazardly describing the Silver Tree in one part and then discussing Findaráto’s growing attachment to men in another part. Then there was a brief allusion to Lúthien Thingol, Princess of Doriath, who, Artanis claimed, possessed the best voice on this side of the sea. 

I did not believe her, after all, her love of a Sindar Prince is bound to colour her perceptions about everything Sindar. 

But I do regret that she is slipping away from us slowly. We have lost Aredhel. I do not wish to lose Artanis too, to these harsh lands. Sindar Princes or no, her place is with her kin until things are more settled and Angband is overthrown.

I picked up my quill and began writing a letter to her, imploring her to return to Nargothrond.

(Referring To The Letter In‘Chapter 39: Even The Stars Fall 1’ In The Song Of Sunset)

 

I was startled as a volley of shouts followed by primal screaming resounded through the corridors. Worried, I strapped my sword on and rushed into the passages, as maids and aides came rushing down the path towards the other end.

“It is the Lord”, the warrior I had assigned to stand guard outside the wing where my brother recuperated, came to me, “The healers want you there.”

“I come”, I rushed with him, droplets of sweat breaking on my forehead as my vivid poetic imagination conjured a hundred scenarios, each worse than the one that had preceded it. 

xxx

 

We reached the large room, and I nodded to him as I strode in. The sight of my brother being restrained by half-a-dozen healers and a warrior shall never leave my mind. Though only partly conscious, Russandol fought like as a soul possessed. Perhaps he was, perhaps he always has been since the captivity.

“MY LORD”, the warrior, who was Russandol’s second-in-command came to my side, “We cannot hold him down. And the healers have been trying to administer the sleeping draught in vain, he screams and curses. They say they have to let more blood.”

There was a fresh uproar as Russandol managed to wrest himself away from the healers. He spun over to the other edge of the bed and curled into a defensive position. I strode forward as the elves began to plot the next strategy to bind him. I certainly had no wish to see him bled when he was already experiencing the effects of bloodloss.

“I will help him into a sitting position”, I volunteered, “Get the draught. I do not want him moved unnecessarily when he has lost so much blood.”

“To calm him”, the healer began, “We need to let more blood.”

“Then he does not have to be calmed”, I said implacably.

“He fights like one of the enemy’s monsters!” one of the younger elves, who was born in these lands of grief, spoke up, “He is insane!”

“That is enough!” I glared at him and watched in satisfaction as the familiar expression of awe and fear came into his eyes. I may be cursed, doomed and exiled, but I still command respect; our house still commands respect.

“With your permission, My Lord”, the chief-healer spoke up, “I shall leave you in charge here. I think it would be better to relax him if we do not crowd him so. Call for me should you need aid.”

The tone in which he delivered this plainly showed that he expected me to send for his aid soon. And that he would then prove his method was the only way out of this. I had no wish to give in, but I did worry about my brother’s mental state. 

I have nursed him all through those early days of recovery from Thangorodrim. I know how he rants when he is delirious, and I do not think that he might wish his subordinates to listen to more than they had already heard of his delirious ravings.

As the door closed behind them, I turned to face the bed. 

My brother’s grey eyes were dilated and unfocussed as he stared at me in near panic. I dropped my sword and walked over to the basin where they had left the draught. Measuring it and pouring it into a glass, I made my way to his side.

His eyes narrowed as he saw the liquid and he cursed in something that seemed to be the coarse tongue of the Naugrim. I shook my head and gently reached out to touch his forehead, this gesture usually made him relax.

“Nolofinwë”, he closed his eyes as he sank back against the headboard, “Leave me not again, please.”

I coaxed him into drinking down the draught and settled into a chair beside the bed, watching him fall asleep under the drug. 

Though I must ask him when he is recovered why he felt reminded of our uncle when he saw me, I think it is generally agreed that I resembled our father the most. But I have never experienced delirious fantasies, and have little idea how my brother sees things in them.

xxx

 

He woke two hours later, his eyes bleary and tired as he scanned the room. As his gaze fell upon me, he said hoarsely, “We did not lose anyone, did we?”

“No”, I assured him, trying not to let the gentleness creep into my tone. 

I had kept vigil only because the accursed healer had not returned to my brother’s side. As soon as he was back, I meant to leave. I had no wish to see my defences crumble, and that would be the inevitable result should I stay by my brother’s side when he was in this state. Both of us would be better off if we did not come into close proximity, he could stick to his pretence and I could keep to my word that my desire would never come between us again.

“I am sorry if I worried you”, he began drowsily, “I did tell Nolofinwë that I would bring her back soon.”

“What?” I asked concernedly, then hastily added sarcasm to my tone, “Nolofinwë is dead and his wife is probably having bliss in Valinor.”

“I meant …”, he yawned and closed his eyes wearily, “I do not know. I will try to think.”

“Go to sleep”, I advised, “And we can think later.”

“Stay?” he mumbled half-asleep, “Hard to sleep when alone in the room.”

“Use me well”, I whispered under my breath, angry with myself. 

He probably was too unfocussed to even know that it was I who kept vigil. When he really came to his senses, there would be a confrontation that I was in no mood to repeat. That was what had happened on a day after my secret was revealed to him. I had rushed to his side when the nightmares came, but when he had woken, he pushed me away in panic. 

xxx

 

He had reasons, yes, but he should have remembered that I have never acted upon my heart’s whim even when he was under my care, helpless and broken. It angers me still that he assumed me capable of using my advantage in such a situation. 

For that perhaps, he shall find my forgiveness hard to claim ever. In my veins too, flows the blood of our House. 

 

xxx

* * *

“My Lord”, the aide spoke quietly, as not to disturb my playing the harp, “Your brother asks for you.”

“Tell him that I will come in the evening”, I replied, pausing my playing, “I am in the middle of a composition, I cannot have it interrupted.”

“I will tell him so, My Lord”, the aide walked away, closing the door behind him quietly. 

I set down my harp with a sigh, as I tried to concentrate on the notes. I could not. My thoughts still revolved around the grey morning when my brother had finally woken up fully conscious and saw me sitting in a chair beside the bed, squeezing his arm loosely.

His eyes had widened and he made to rise from his prone position, but I had hastily withdrawn my hand and murmured something about administrative duties. He did not call me back as I left hurriedly.

After that, I left him solely in the care of the healers, though my conscience would twinge relentlessly unless I went to his chambers and checked for myself the state of his recovery. Of course, I did this only when there were healers or aides around or when he was asleep. My dexterous measures had ensured that I was successful in putting off the confrontation till now. 

Now that my brother was demanding to see me, I really had no choice but to face the taxing confrontation that would follow.

 

After the sunset, I made my way to his chambers, carrying a sheaf of correspondence in my hands. Maybe I could draw him into a diplomatic conversation. I loathed it, but Nolofinwë and Russandol had always loved debating diplomatic nonsense. 

“Enter”, he called out crisply, even before I knocked.

Grimly, I opened the door and walked inside, my sheaf of papers clutched closely to my chest.

“I do hope most fervently that you are not planning to spoil my recovery with work”, his voice had a tinge of worry, as if he really expected me to make good on that threat.

“I presumed that you are recovered enough”, I said quietly, staring at his form on the hearthrug before the fire.

He was on the floor leaning his head against a well-worn chair, his eyes watching the flames absently, his legs stretched languidly, his hand nursing a mug of what seemed to be tea. Clad in a loose, simple, cream robe, he looked wearier than I have ever seen him, perhaps except for those early days after the Thangorodrim.

“Come, Macalaurë”, he turned to look at me, “I really am too comfortable here, so I hope you would not mind me rising to greet you.”

I shrugged and walked towards him, noticing with disapproval the tangled state of his limp hair. I have always been a stickler for cleanliness in attire. And his current state did not certainly meet my stringent standards.

“The healer said that I can take a bath tomorrow”, he chuckled as he saw my disapproval, “I did tell him that I had to have one before I could come anywhere near you!”

He had not yet mentioned the true purpose of his summons. I sighed and waited stiffly, the sooner he dropped his mask of congeniality, the faster we would get this done with. His grey eyes were regarding me with something akin to sadness.

“Come, sit”, he motioned to the chair against which he was resting his head, “I would move if it bothers you. But I would rather not.”

Suppressing an urge to roll my eyes at his familiar diplomatic tones, I did as he asked me to; he shifted his head to rest against my knees and drew up a long leg to his chest as he continued speaking, “I hope I do not stink badly enough to offend your sensitive nose.”

“You will, soon, if you do not take a bath”, I murmured as I let my fingers indulge in their longtime fantasy of threading through the red tangles on his head.

He sighed saying, “I miss Nolofinwë, he would soothe away my doubts and fears with a single touch.”

“I am not Nolofinwë”, I said grimly, withdrawing my fingers away, “Though I would be if I could.”

“You are my brother”, he said quietly, “And I find that I missed your presence in the long nights I fought my nightmares only to wake to find a shocked healer by my side.”

“I did not wish to inconvenience you”, I said plainly, “I had no desire to go through the recriminations and disgust that you would have expressed, suspecting each and every action of mine to be spurred by lust than by brotherhood.”

“Macalaurë”, he sighed as he looked up at me, craning his neck so that our gazes met, “I know I hurt you unforgivably that day in the camp of our uncle. I was terrified”, his voice had become softer, “Terrified that I would lose another I loved to desire.”

“What do you mean?” I asked bewildered, “Surely you are not implying that I expected you to return my desires? I hate myself for them, and why would I seek to have them requited? It is enough that one of us is cursed!”

“No”, he smiled gauntly, “I have never held to it that desire can ever be shameful. It is a part of what makes us what we are. What I meant was the power of one’s will to rein in this desire. When your object of desire lies helpless and tormented under your care, can you restrain yourself from indulging in your fondest fantasies? I do not know, perhaps I cannot. Perhaps nobody can withstand that temptation.”

“I have withstood!” I exclaimed in angry bitterness, “all those days and night I nursed you after the Thangorodrim, have you ever felt anything more than purity in my touch and glance?”

“Never”, he said solemnly, as he returned his gaze to the fire, “But how I wish that our cousin had been as noble as you, Kano.”

I gasped as I leant back in my chair, realizing what he meant. He was still staring stubbornly at the fire.

“The devices of the enemy were bearable, for I expected nothing less. They could never break me, however they tormented and tore me”, he said quietly, watching the flames dance, “But to be under the care of one you trust and love. Not all my screams were from nightmares, brother-mine.”

“I will kill him, accursed dog that he is!” I cursed furiously as my fingers clenched themselves around my brother’s shoulders, digging into them.

“Enough have been slain, and ample justice have we tried to mete”, he laughed sadly, “No, Macalaurë, let us forget this. I wished to tell you this since I could no longer bear your anger. I crave your forgiveness. I have never been much without you, brother.”

“Why did you never tell me?” I asked in shock and fury, “Why did you never tell Nolofinwë?”

“I was never much sane and lucid in those days”, he smiled gently, placing his sole hand upon my fingers where they rested on his shoulder, “I thought I was dreaming, that my restlessness was making the wounds difficult to heal. Until, I turned lucid enough one night. I would never have told anyone. We are short of allies, Kano. We cannot afford infighting. I would have carried the secret within me all my days. Our cousin is a strong ruler and a valiant soul, who made a mistake or two that matters not to the majority. I am a warrior, and I should learn to be accepting of what life has thrown at me. If Artanis can forget the past, move on with pride and defiant courage to find love and a renewed life, so can I.”

Artanis and my brother, once more I reflected on their similarities. They would give up their will and wish for the greater good. My brother has sacrificed much for our cause. The burdens of the true heir of Finwë and of the leader of our house are breaking him. I cannot do anything but to stand by his side and help him as much as I can, as much as I am allowed to. 

I pray fervently that Artanis never shoulders this burden. Let her be free, let her find a new life with her pagan Sindar Prince in Doriath. The doom should never touch her. We should let her break the ties to our bloodlines and escape.

 

“Brother”, he rubbed my fingers absently, “Do I have your forgiveness?”

“I will never touch you with desire”, I said shakily, “I never have done so before and I never shall. You are my brother, in blood and heart. It would take more than the curses on our house and the Doom of Mandos to break us apart.”

“Then my securing the Pass all those years ago was not an utter waste of effort”, he smiled at me, sudden mischievousness flaring through his grey eyes.

“It never was”, I slipped back into my customary sarcasm, “you would not have had a better companion in any of our siblings. Can you imagine them putting up with your sudden whimsical actions, the long broodings, the abrupt childishness, occasional flights of fancy and dreamy contemplation of your old haunt on the rocks? What do you see in them anyway?”

“I will one day build a tower there”, he said mirthfully, “The view from there is quite enticing!”

“I knew it”, I grumbled as I cuffed his head gently, “You are insane.”

“Father left me only that as my inheritance”, he laughed delightedly as I tickled his neck, “Imagine my horror when he said that he would not give me the keys to his forge, after all the time I had wasted in there. Still haven’t forgiven our brother for usurping me!”

“Thinking of the quality of your craftsmanship”, I laughed as he squirmed under my assault, “I would not say that he bestowed the inheritance wrongly. I find it difficult to envision you standing in the forge, before the furnace, clad in nothing but sooty leggings, sweating all over as you work the bellows.”

“I think I rather shudder at the picture you imagine”, he gave me a look of shock, “I much prefer being a one-handed, fey warrior.”

“I would have you a King than a warrior”, the words escaped my lips impulsively, his eyes widened as he heard them.

“There are wishes that have to remain ever buried, Kano”, he rose to his feet, “Amongst them is this futile dream.”

“Is it time for you to retire?” I asked quietly, already regretting that I had made the relaxed expression on his face return to his normal pensiveness.

“I would wish to look at the correspondence”, he said mournfully, “But I do not find the interest at all”, his gaze softened as he met my eyes, “I thank you, brother, you have brought back joy to my life again. Your forgiveness means the most.”

“I can never abandon you. Whatever my perversion, my place shall be at your side”, I sighed as I rose to my feet and moved to embrace him.

He returned my embrace before bestowing a fond kiss to my hair and murmuring, “And I would not have it any other way.”

 

As he left for his rest, I remained by the fire, staring at the flames. I thought of him, I thought of Artanis, I thought of Findekáno. How our lives had turned. One moment we had been princes high in lineage and favour at the court of Tirion. The next moment, we had turned kinslayers, oathswearers, traitors and exiles.

 

How life changes! And how helpless we are to do anything about it. Even my father was trampled by the wheel of fate. And he had once believed that nothing could ever defeat him, neither the wrath of the Valar or the Song of Ainur.

We are nothing but dolls of clay, in the hands of the Gods, to be wrought and moulded as they will and wish.

Hatred, that is all I can feel now when I think of those who rule in the lands across the sea.

* * *

There has been little variation in our routines. My wife visits me every third year and spends a season at Himring. The weather does not agree with her, but she is a daughter of the Noldor, the race that had crossed the Ice. She bears it as well as she can.

Our conjugal relations are satisfactory. I have vowed to be faithful to her ever. And I am. We couple with passion and trust. But even the blindest of our subjects can see that we are not in love. We never have been.

I hear that Artanis has given birth to a girl. Russandol is very happy and wishes to see her. He was writing to Findaráto, beseeching him to give a grand reception feast at Nargothrond. Unfortunately, Artanis’s husband hates us all. He will not bring his child within a mile of us. 

Findaráto and Atarinkë are quarrelling more these days. There are weeks where we get two messengers from Nargothrond, one from Atarinkë and one from Findaráto. Russandol counsels peace, but I suspect that it is too late. If Findaráto is being bitter, then things are really past the point of negotiation. 

There is Findekáno, in Barad Eithel, he has taken a lover, they say. His mistress, though, remains with Círdan. I hear that they have a son. Heir, Russandol corrected me, as I read the missive to him.

“Pardon”, I smiled, “It is not acknowledged that Findekáno has bonded or married. Why would you call this issue an heir?”

“The child is our cousin’s son, even if the circumstances of his conception are not so pure”, Russandol shrugged, “And he is a scion of Kings on his father’s side.”

“Findekáno acknowledges no son”, I warned my too-generous and soulful brother, “You will be creating trouble should you persist in recognizing this issue as of our grandfather’s line.”

“I will take him in, if Círdan does not”, Russandol shrugged, “He has our blood, brother. And Findekáno is not going to ever overrule me. His courtiers have frightened him with stories of my insanity.”

Russandol had written to Círdan to implore him to care for the scion, and tentatively suggested a name. Ereinion. Círdan chose to bestow that name on the child. 

I had to stop working myself into a temper as Russandol sent cartloads of books and scrolls to Círdan so that he could ‘educate’ the heir.

 

“What are you thinking of?” Carnilote asked me amusedly, “You have been staring at the bed post for a very long time.”

“I was counting the grains on the wood”, I yawned as I turned to face her, “It was one of my father’s lessons, you know, to improve your eyesight.”

“Was he a taskmaster?” she asked curiously as she ran her slender fingers along my jaw, “I doubt it, you cannot forge a sword to save your life.”

“I have never been inside the forge”, I smiled as she cuddled closer, warming us both, “Though I might have, if the lands had been as cold as Himring. The forge is a hot place.”

“So I thought”, she laughed as she tentatively touched one of my nipples, her eyes were hazy as she said, “I believe that the Sindar have orgies where they play with wax on the body.”

“They are uncivilized”, I said comfortably, “But all the same, you are free to play with wax if you desire, my dear. Just not on me.”

After all, it was no secret that she was not a celibate in the days apart. I did not grudge her her lovers. I do not stray to alien beds, but that does not make me faithful…I fantasize way too much.

She laughed endearingly, a blush warming her features as she said, “Your brother and the King might play such games, they say that Lord Findekáno is very adventurous, and dominating.”

I had been in that half-aware state of lazy satiation and sleepiness. But her last sentence woke me out of my languid musings and I asked her shocked, “My brother? You mean Curufinwë? He has no intimacy with Findekáno.”

That was the only assumption that made sense. Atarinkë has always had a streak of my father in him. He wished for power games in bed, which was why he had a steady relationship with Turkáno. From what I knew of their mutual respect and love, I did not think that he would take Turkáno’s brother as a lover. Atarinkë was not made for straying. And he has never been able to stand Findekáno.

“I meant your elder brother”, she said a trifle impatiently, “Why Curufinwë? Lord Nelyafinwë is bonded to Lord Findekáno, is it not?”

“What?” I stared at her.

“That is how the King saved his life after Thangorodrim, by bonding with him”, she smiled, “Why are you testing my knowledge of your family’s private lives? That is all my father taught me.”

 

I have faint recollections of rising from our bed and throwing the nearest robe over my shoulders before leaving the room, abandoning a stunned Carnilote in my wake. The guards were staring at me as I ran to the other end of the corridor, a sudden coldness seeping through my veins.

Pounding on the door, I shouted his name. 

“Macalaurë”, he opened the door, plain worry creasing his features, “What is wrong?” his eyes widened as he saw my dishevelled hair and the robe that hung limply across my shoulders.

He pulled me into the room and motioned the guards to return. Then he slid the door shut and coaxed me into a chair by the dying fire. A moment later, I found myself being blanketed by cosy shawls of fur. I breathed in thankfully, shivers wracking my frame. I had forgotten how deadly cold Himring could be.

He added logs to the fire and then settled down on the floor below me. Running a curious glance at the traces of my activities with my wife that still clung to my legs, he pulled my feet into his lap and began massaging them back to warmth with his one hand. I wondered at his acceptance once again. I am sure that I would have buried myself in self-pity if it had been I in his place. Learning to master everything with a left hand… 

“You will catch your death of cold this way”, he chided me worriedly, “What is wrong?”

“Carnilote told me that Findekáno”, I shook my head wearily, “Russandol, I need to know. Did he bond with you?”

My brother’s eyes widened as he stared at me dumbfounded. Then he laughed weakly and resumed his massage murmuring, “My brother, only you can shock me so.”

“Russandol?” I asked tiredly, “I have to know. If so, I am riding for his lands and killing him outright. You do not know how his actions torment me. My dreams are filled with remorse and regrets. All those days, I was at hand and I did not know, I was useless.”

“Macalaurë”, he said kindly, his eyes warm though sad, “This is not your burden at all. Do you mean to tell me that you ran amok through the corridors because of this charming post-coital conversation that you had with your lady?”

“Russandol”, I sighed as I took my feet off his lap and rose, “You will never understand that I hold you of the utmost importance than anyone else. I will leave. But our cousin will pay for this, if I have a say.”

He rose in one fluid motion and met my gaze saying simply, “I will not have revenge. And I expect you to hold to that. I am the heir, after all. You swore your fealty to me.” 

“I am your brother”, I said bitterly, “And what use was I to you?”

“A reason to return”, he said solemnly, his eyes boring into mine, “Ever, a reason to return.”

We remained silent, the only sounds being that of my fast breathing. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said quietly, “I am sure that we are not bound. Do not worry, brother. Even if it were so, it matters little. There is none who desire me beyond lust.”

“It is irony”, I laughed cynically, wounded by the quiet resignation of his tone, “that if I had been less loving, I might have achieved my desire.”

His eyes held the first traces of vulnerability as he stepped backwards saying, “Nobility runs in you too deep, brother. Which is why that you never let lust rule you. Nobility cannot always be for the best”, he trailed away, “Nolofinwë…”

“Nolofinwë once told me that we often find love through lust”, I said resentfully, “And I believed him not. It was true for Father and him, though.”

He sighed saying, “It is late, and it grows colder. Your wife will be worried. Now go, and tell her anything you fancy. That I am bound to Morgoth…I care nothing.”

I could only leave the room, shaken at my own betrayal of my deepest vows. But more so, I was shaken to the core by the utter loneliness that I had seen in his grey eyes. Loneliness that desperately sought to be eased. If I had not ever revealed my desire, would he have stayed chaste, depriving himself of the simple comforts of companionship? I had married. He had not.

“You care for him too deeply”, my wife said as I let myself in, “Too deeply to be mere brotherly regard.”

“I care for him”, I sighed, “He is closest to me amongst all my siblings.”

“He carries a curse”, she remarked, “Lord Findekáno shouted his name during the night his son was conceived. Círdan and I heard it. And often have I noticed your lips curve to form his name before you bite down on the sound.”

 

To say that my wife parted that season in bitterness would be exaggeration. She hosted my brother’s table dutifully, giving him no indication of what had transpired between us. At dinners, she sat to my right. At balls, we danced together with absolutely no shadow of the slightest domestic darkening. 

But a week before her departure, I overheard a conversation that turned me crimson with shame, mortification and anger.

“Lord Nelyafinwë”, Carnilote said quietly, “I wish to speak on a private matter with you.”

“At your disposal, My Lady”, his voice was polite and mildly concerned.

“I would wish to have my husband travelling with me this journey”, her voice was detached, “I miss him much too long on these months apart.”

“I would not hinder him”, my brother said pleasantly, “If that is what he wishes.”

“He wishes to bide with you”, she said crisply, “But he belongs with me.”

“He was my brother before he became your spouse”, he said calmly, “He belongs here too.”

“I see none of your younger siblings here”, she said innocently, “Do they not belong with you too?”

There was a silence before Russandol said briefly, “I will ask my brother to accompany you then.”

“And tell him to stop lusting after the High-King’s bonded-mate”, my wife ended her words with an emphasis on the last two. 

I cringed as I imagined my brother’s expression. He seemed to recover for he said with graceful equanimity, “Certainly I shall, My Lady.”

 

As things turned out, I did not have to leave.

“My Lord!” messengers arrived in the castle, “Lord Findaráto has accompanied Beren on the quest for the Silmarils!”

“What?” I rushed to the courtyard to snatch the missives from Findekáno and Orodeth, “Who rules in Nargothrond?”

“Orodeth”, the messenger said breathlessly, “Lords Atarinkë and Tyelkormo have left that city. They ride through Dorthonion.”

“Have them brought here”, I said crisply, as I cursed my foolish brothers again.

So it had happened, Findaráto and Atarinkë had finally fallen out irreparably. Atarinkë must have rallied the people to his side with out father’s charm, and Findaráto must have abdicated to accompany the human on this quest.

“Brother”, I rushed to Russandol’s study with the missives, “You must read these now.”

His grey eyes were fixed on the Thangorodrim as he stood before the window, his sole hand clasped nervously about his waist. It was not an unusual position to find him, he was always staring at the rocks. Sometimes I find myself thinking that those rocks would melt under the fiery intensity of his gaze.

But it was extremely rare to find that aquiline face bearing a lone tear trail, down onto his dark robes.

He turned to face me as he heard my voice, misery transforming instantly to a well-acted nonchalance as he said, “What news, Macalaurë?”

I walked forwards and set the pile of missives on his desk. Then I went around the furniture to stand before him. He was still staring at the rocks, a wistful expression on his features as he spoke, “Shall it never end? It is ever the same, I am alone on the rocks wishing for deliverance and death at the same instant.”

“You are never alone”, I said crisply, “Unless you wish to make yourself so.”

He shook his head before gripping my shoulder with a painful clasp, I placed my hands on his and he sighed before tentatively bringing our foreheads together in the long forgotten shared gestures of our childhood. I was about to hold him closer but then I remembered Nolofinwë. 

“He could smooth away my fears and doubts with a single caress.”

I remembered the day when he had been brought half-insane and raving from the rocks. They had been hard pressed to restrain him, until our uncle had intervened. I could still remember Aredhel describing how Nolofinwë had pressed a kiss to his nephew’s cheeks and gathered him into his arms.

I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it softly. He shivered, perhaps from the cold wind that blew in through the window.

“Macalaurë”, he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, “Please, stop. Lest I lose myself in this.”

“What do you fear?” I asked sadly, “I vowed to myself that it would ever be pure. It is forbidden and cursed by our laws, reasons enough for me to bury it within myself.”

“The laws of the Gods can never rule the passions of our hearts”, he said simply before clutching my right hand and placing it over his chest, to the left, where I could feel the nervous thudding of the organ beneath the robes.

 

I wish that I could write we simply shed our inhibitions and found peace. Unfortunately, it was vastly different. After having taken the first unsure step, he hastily retreated and moved to the safety of the window, trying to bring his features back into nonchalance.

I was left to choose. He was right in leaving me a choice. I am, after all, married.

 

We had our meal in uncustomary silence. He kept fiddling with the food, his eyes refusing to meet mine, I noticed that he was pouring himself more wine than was his usual indulgence.

“You might end up with a headache come morning”, I said half-heartedly, even as he poured another generous quantity into his goblet.

His grey eyes met mine for an instant before he said quietly, “I plan to finish off the bottle, if it is all right with you.”

“Russandol”, I laid my fingers on his wrist, feeling the frantic pulse, “T’is enough. Nothing changes, you know.” 

He swallowed and rose to his feet, pushing back his chair with far less than his usual grace as he said, “I want, and I fear.”

I set down my goblet and walked to his side. The dark circles around his weary eyes seemed darker this night. I embraced him from behind, letting my hands twine with his fingers. He drew a harsh intake of air before stiffening in my hold. 

Bravely, I leant over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “I think you should retire. You have had wine enough to knock you out for the night.”

He relaxed in my arms and turned his face half-about so that we could see each other. I stood stunned as I saw the first shadow of hope in his grey eyes. Was it all that was needed to bring some healing to his tormented soul?

 

 

Silently I cupped his sharp jaw and watched his sudden intake of breath, his grey eyes turning almost black with emotion. His grip on the mantel tightened and the knuckles became sheer white from the force.

Slowly, my lips met his quivering ones. He exclaimed something blasphemous, but I soothed him with languid movements of my hands along his spine. Giving a shuddering sob, he collapsed against my thinner frame, the long fingers digging into my skin. It was as desperate as if he was falling into a chasm, with only my body to cling to. 

“Macalaurë”, there was a discreet cough from the doorway, “What happens here?”

Russandol staggered away from me breathlessly, his eyes filled with sudden fear as he stared at an aghast-looking Atarinkë who stood in the doorway.

I turned to face my younger brother and said neutrally, “Welcome, brother. We had not been expecting you this eve.”

“I had a faster journey than I had calculated”, he said quietly, his eyes still on our elder brother, “There is news. Findekáno rushes here as I speak. Orodeth is too weak to hold Nargothrond. And Findaráto is dead.”

“What?” Russandol gasped in shock as he finally met Curufin’s eyes, “In Angband?”

“In Tol Sirion”, Atarinkë laughed bitterly, “In the labyrinth that he had wrought with his own hands and craftsmen, he refused to listen to me.”

“The human?” I asked stunned, even as Russandol sank down into a chair his eyes filled with despair as he mourned our cousin.

“The human escaped…with one of the Jewels”, Atarinkë said plainly, “Macalaurë, Thingol has the Silmaril now. Findekáno and I wrote a missive to him, begging him to yield the jewel. He says that he shall not, not even if we threatened a kinslaying.”

“Which we shall not do”, Russandol said in a voice still far from his usual tones, “Curufinwë, do you think that we may have an ally in Artanis? She is in Doriath with her husband.”

“She refused to return, the last time the twins wrote to her”, Atarinkë sighed, “The Girdle of Melian does not permit much travelling. We can have no allies from within.”

“I will write to Círdan then”, Russandol said thoughtfully, his mien sobering, “He would have advice for us. And Turkáno.”

“There is another matter”, Atarinkë said hesitantly, “Irissë.”

“What of her?” I asked alarmed, “We have had news of her from neither Findekáno nor Turkáno!”

“She is dead”, Atarinkë poured himself a full goblet of wine and drank it down in one go, “Irissë managed to escape to Turkáno....with her son. But the Dark Elf followed her, and he slew her in the court of Gondolin. Turkáno fosters the son.”

“Eru!” Russandol exclaimed and leant forward, “Are you certain with this news?”

“Turkáno wrote to me”, Atarinkë said darkly, his lover’s name spilling off his lips with fond, yet, wistful recollections.

“We are all compromised on all directions…Thingol with the Jewel, Findaráto’s death, the weakening of Nargothrond, Findekáno’s recent losses, Turkáno’s isolation…”, Russandol said grimly, “It leaves us with little choice, but to lash out with all we have.”

* * *

“My dear brother!”, Atarinkë hissed as he strode after me, “What were you thinking? In a dining hall, of all places!”

“We were not thinking”, I said shortly, “And guards at Himring are most loyal to Russandol. You need not fear indiscretion.”

I have never been much fond of Atarinkë, but now the plain bewilderment and confusion in his eyes were too much to bear. I could not help remembering that he had despatched me to Nolofinwë’s care following Russandol’s capture. And there was the fact that he had probably sent Findaráto to his death in Tol Sirion.

“I do not fear”, he said sharply, “But surely you are aware that the people are convinced that our brother is bonded to Findekáno? Even Turkáno thinks so! Do you have any idea of the ruckus you would find yourself in if Findekáno hears of this illicit relation?”

“Illicit?” I snorted derisively, “What you had with Turkáno was far more illicit!”

“He is a widower”, he said righteously, “And certainly, we did not turn to each other out of loneliness or pity!”

“I have little doubts of what my motives are”, I said crisply, “And our brother is old enough to make his choices. My wife knows that she has never held my heart.”

“Our brother is not brave enough to make his choices”, Atarinkë grabbed my wrist, forcing me to a halt, his dark eyes pierced me as our father’s once had. 

I averted my eyes as he hissed, “Can you live with what you have wrought, Macalaurë? He has never allowed himself to even think of anyone else after your secret was revealed, he once told me that what you could not have, nobody else could have.”

“I did not approach him”, I said almost plaintively, “It was ever my vow to bury what lay between us.”

“Love is as our father’s fire, Macalaurë”, he said in melancholy, “Once stoked, ever shall it burn.”

 

I avoided close company with Russandol over the following months. It was not difficult, for all our siblings had assembled in Himring. Atarinkë had turned a silent ally, helping me avoid our brother whenever a tricky situation arose. For the first time in my life, I appreciated my younger brother. 

There was much to be done, for Findekáno wanted war with Angband to end it once and for all. The usual silent dinners that I had shared with my elder brother expanded to accommodate all our siblings. There were not many opportunities where I was alone with him.

Russandol was busy with the strategists and the counsellors, for he had much to aid them with his detailed knowledge of the lands of the enemy. In mid-winter, Findekáno came to Himring, and was received by his cousins.

Russandol had not been there for the reception and I had been buried in my work. I am a strategist, almost as brilliant as my uncle Arafinwë in the battleplans. So I was required to add all that I could to the possible attacking techniques that we were discussing.

 

I had been about to change into ceremonial robes and attend the welcoming feast held in the High-King’s honour when a knocking on the door interrupted me.

“Macalaurë”, Russandol’s voice seemed weary, “May I come in for a moment?”

“Please do”, I said unhappily, wondering where Atarinkë had got to.

“I sent him to escort Findekáno”, my brother explained as he entered the chamber and made for the nearest armchair, a large bundle of scrolls, robes and candlesticks held awkwardly between his hand and torso. He gratefully dumped them onto the floor and leant back.

I was about to protest that I had thought of anything of the sort, but he waved his sole hand dismissively saying, “I know you are avoiding me”, his eyes met mine warily, “Whatever be the reasons, I would wish that you bury them temporarily for the war. I want you to ride with me”, he hesitated, “I would be honoured if you ride beside me.”

“I would want nothing more than to ride to war beside you”, I said truthfully, “Russandol, I shall not let you order me away as you did the last time”, his eyes filled with remembered pain as he glanced towards the east, “Promise me that you shall not repeat that sacrifice. Life, to me, is not anything without you in it.”

“I promise”, he smiled wanly before rising to his feet, “And I thought that”, he stooped to pick up the rich brocaded robes that he had brought along, “Since we rarely have feasts here, it is a chance for us to see you in this”, he held them towards me awkwardly, his eyes on the silvery trimmings of the dark purple silken robes.

I stared at him dumbfounded, he cleared his throat uneasily and said, “Of course, I have always been meaning to get them for you. But your wedding was on too short a notice, and I could not have had them made.”

“They are too grand for me, Russandol”, I said stunned, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “I do think that they would suit you more than me.”

“Nonsense”, he said shortly, trying to regain his equanimity, “I believe they will become you excellently. If you do not like the colour or the material or the trimming…”, he trailed away unsurely, “I would understand.”

“I think it is simply wonderful”, I moved to take the robes from him and shook my head, “But it was really unnecessary. We are not in Tirion, brother.”

“I noticed that”, he smiled weakly, “But you still are my dearest brother. And I do have the right to indulge you.”

xxx

 

I have little notion of what had made my brother make that impulsive gift. He is rarely one to do things on the spur of the moment. Not for nothing has he learnt diplomacy from our grandfather and Nolofinwë. 

However, I was in no mood to cross him and obediently wore the splendidly woven robes and left my hair loose. Artanis has always said that suits me the most. While I do have qualms about her opinions of beauty, I still trust her view than I trust mine. To put it plainly, I lack the typical elven sense of style.

“Cousin!” Findekáno moved towards me as I entered the hall, “You look truly magnificent, if I may compliment so!”

His words were sincere, but I could hardly find it in myself to return his smile. The past still stirred a desire for revenge deep in me. I managed a tight smile and moved hastily to where Atarinkë stood alone.

I rarely find myself the cynosure at any gathering, mainly because all my siblings and my cousins far outrival me in looks. But that day, I found myself the centre of attention. 

“What have you done with yourself, brother?” Atarinkë asked me amusedly, “You look all aglow.”

“Really”, I muttered as I snatched his goblet from him and sipped nervously, wondering why people would not cease looking at me, “I presume it is the lighting at Himring, we rarely have so many torches lit.”

“Where did you manage to get Vanyarin silk from?” Atarinkë asked curiously as he fingered the hem of my robes, I batted his hands away irritably, “These are of pure make, brother.”

“Russandol gifted the robes”, I said wearily, he would never stop questioning until he was satisfied, “And I saw no reason not to wear them. What more occasions have I to wait for, unless you wish to marry again? Or perhaps your son might be inspired”

“Telperinquar is none too eager to marry”, he shrugged, “As for me, I rather enjoy being a widower”, his lips curled into that peculiar half-smile so like my father’s, “What of your lovely wife?”

“She is with Círdan”, I said detachedly, “That is safer…”

We were so absorbed in the conversation that I had not noticed Russandol entering the hall until Atarinkë motioned towards the entrance. He was clad in simple grey robes that covered his maimed arm well. His hair was braided back into a loose plait and his grey eyes seemed to be cautiously hopeful as they took in the crowded hall. Then they finally alighted on me and he smiled, his eyes sparkling.

“What have you wrought, brother-mine?” Atarinkë sighed even as I bit my lower lip in frustration. 

Findekáno had gone over to accost his cousin and was now curiously following Russandol’s line of sight. His eyes widened slightly as he realized the object of Russandol’s gazing and he threw a sharp look at me. I cleared my throat and turned to speak with Atarinkë again, not glancing back again at my cousin.

xxx

 

I felt ill at ease that night, Atarinkë had retired early on. And I was left alone to watch Russandol and Findekáno dance together to the applause of the revelling warriors. From the heady encouragement all around, it was very clear that everyone believed that my cousin and brother were bonded.

Finally, as the last song ended, the revellers broke up. I wished to find my brother and wish him goodnight, but he was still talking soberly with the patrol leaders who had ridden out. Findekáno had retired, so I too decided to make my way to my own chambers.

I had not gone half-way when Atarinkë caught up with me and said urgently, “Ask Maitimo to come to the east gate, there is someone who wishes to see him immediately.”

“I shall”, I nodded and made my way to my brother’s chambers. 

They were empty. Sighing, I decided to wait for him. I hoped sincerely that he had not had too much of the wine, for it had seemed most potent. I had no wish to see him relaxed and amenable to my attentions. I would not be able to resist him, by Eru.

“I am at a loss to explain why you condone these rumours”, my brother’s voice was harsh, a very rare occurrence, I frowned in worry.

“They speak of that they see”, Findekáno said placidly, “And the age difference between your father and mine was exactly the same as the difference between you and I.”

“I have never given a soul reason to think that I am in love with you…far less that I am bonded to you”, Russandol said furiously, “And I shall not have people thinking of me thus.”

“It matters little to you, as things stand. I have a son, and a mistress, and many a lover”, Findekáno said matter-of-factly, “And they think that I am cheating on you. You have to make your stand clear to none.”

“It is no fault of mine”, Russandol said sullenly.

“You have not taken a male lover in all these centuries”, Findekáno’s voice was measured, “And I have never pressed my suit for it is not in me to force you to a path that you had little desire to traverse.”

“Except when you are not in entire possession of your senses”, Russandol cut in wryly, “And I have forgiven you that, cousin. But I cannot let these rumours wreck my life.”

“Wreck your life?” Findekáno laughed, “Have you then finally found a woman to share your life with?”

“No”, Russandol said simply, “Cousin, it is my own conscience.”

“I noticed the way you were staring at Macalaurë”, Findekáno said quietly, “My father once told me that if you had ever chosen to take a male lover, it would have been Macalaurë.”

“He and I are not lovers”, Russandol said in a soft, dangerous tone that I had rarely heard. “Tread lightly, Findekáno. It took me years to earn his forgiveness over the way I treated him in this matter.”

“I am worthier than he ever can be, should it be that you have finally chosen to brave this path”, Findekáno said in a low tone, I silently walked to the open door and stared at the scene in the corridor.

They were facing each other, Findekáno’s hands were gripped on my brother’s waist as he leant forward slightly. Russandol had a restraining arm on his companion’s shoulder as he tried to extricate himself quietly.

Findekáno pressed the entire length of his body against my brother, making him balance against the corridor wall. Russandol lifted his head passively as Findekáno bent to press a kiss to the exposed whiteness of his cousin’s neck. A faint moan of pleasure sounded from Russandol’s lips as he arched upwards exposing his neck further, his arm falling limp at his side.

As Findekáno chuckled triumphantly and slowly rubbed himself against the now languid figure of my brother, I felt bile rising in me. Russandol had slid a few inches down the wall as Findekáno’s fingers parted the ties on my brother’s robes.

“RUSSANDOL!” I could no longer restrain myself, it came out in a torrent of anger, wounded pride, hate, and jealousy, that I could not believe it was my own voice.

Findekáno stepped back hastily, Russandol looked in my direction, dawning horror in his grey eyes displacing the languidly pleasant haze that had shone in them as he realized I had seen. 

“I will see you at dawn, for the hunt”, Findekáno nodded to us and hurriedly made his way up the corridor, leaving us staring at each other.

“It was less your desire for me than your desire to experience physical intimacies”, I said bitterly, “Enough have I waited for you. Today you have broken all that I have believed of you”, he exclaimed, but I continued unforgiving, “Perhaps it is the truth then, that you are bonded to him as he is to you!”

“Macalaurë”, he began tremulously, his fingers coming up to his neck as he tried to tie the laces of his robes and failing miserably, “It was never my intention that--”

“That I should know?” I laughed bitterly. “Apparently, the Valar have cursed you, brother, and your intentions go awry at the best of times.”

“Any reparation that I can make”, he began again, his frame shivering, “I would do it, brother…Just tell me that you will listen to what I have to say…I can explain.”

“We have a war to fight, Maitimo”, I said coldly, “And I would rather that personal matters came after we are done with our weapons.”

He opened his mouth as if to beg again, but he seemed to think better of it, and nodded simply before crossing me and entering his chambers. As the door closed behind him, I reflected that Nolofinwë had an easier time. My father had never been unfaithful to him, even in the long years apart during the Exile. 

There seems to be much that I do not know about my brother. He told me that he wanted, and that he feared. But now, with Findekáno, he had had no restraints as he abandoned himself to pleasure. 

 

“Macalaurë!” Atarinkë entered the far side of the corridor and peered irritably at me, “Where is Maitimo? His visitor cannot wait much.”

“I…”, I cut off, “He is ill, brother, and would not be disturbed. I will come down to the gate myself.”

 

I was cursing myself, cursing Findekáno, cursing the Valar, cursing the visitor, and cursing my brother as I strode to the gate.

“Who is it?” I asked as I reached the other side of the moat, my voice harsher than was my usual wont.

“Macalaurë?” the tentative voice nearly made me lose my balance.

“ARTANIS”, I hissed, as her hooded figure came into my sight, “What are you doing here? Come within! It is freezing!”

“I must go”, she said urgently, “My husband will miss me. And then there would be trouble”, she smiled wanly as she lifted her hood to reveal her features, “I wished to see Maitimo once before the war.”

“He is happy and would not have his domestic peace disrupted!” I exclaimed in anger, I have never hidden anything from Artanis, as we have much in common, “Apparently Findekáno and he are supposed to be bonded-mates.”

“That is a lie”, she said simply, her features resolute in her conviction.

“Why so?” I asked hopelessly, “I have seen, Artanis, and I can find no other explanation. They are drawn to each other.”

“Guard him well”, she said quietly, “I fear for him, Macalaurë, guard him well. Turkáno cannot be much of a high-king, as isolated as he is.”

“Mean you Maitimo? Or our cousin?” I asked bitterly.

“Our cousin shall perish in flames”, she said with a wild laugh, “And well deserved shall it be, Macalaurë. Tell none this, but the crown shall rest on his unacknowledged son.”

“Maitimo has had him taught”, I shrugged, “He has a special affinity to Findekáno’s line!”

“No, ‘tis not affinity”, she said gravely, “It is his conscience. I have no more conscience left, Macalaurë, and I will see Findekáno’s line destroyed if that is the last thing I do. Much has he torn from us.”

“Come within”, I begged her as the cold wind brought with it more snow, “At dawn, I will take you to your lands myself.”

“I came alone, and I can return alone”, she said simply, “I will be safe, I am sure. It is not my time to grieve yet.”

* * *

I gave up on the latest battleplan I had been working on. It was useless. I could not get that scene out of my head…my brother’s pleasure-satiated, tormented face as Findekáno touched him. Try whatever I might, I was unable to concentrate and focus.

“You might want to go hunting with us?” Atarinkë asked sympathetically, “Even music offers you no distraction.”

“I hate hunting”, I said scowling, “It is for those who have no better purpose in life.”

“So said Artanis”, he laughed, “And she ended up marrying one of the best Sindar huntsmen. This Prince of Doriath is ever the leader of their hunting campaigns.”

I frowned, Artanis has always hated hunting. How would she bear a husband whose main pleasure seemed to be hunting?

“We end up loving that we hate, brother”, Curufin’s knowledgeable tone irked me, “And why are you staring at the script, Macalaurë, it is Findekáno’s hand, not Morgoth’s.”

“I hate it”, I said conversationally, before striking out a wrong diagram with venomous satisfaction, the plan was spoilt. Findekáno could do it again, I smiled gleefully.

“Maitimo might take you to task over this”, Atarinkë sighed before dropping his head to his own correspondence.

 

As it turned out, it was Findekáno who took me to task. 

“Macalaurë”, he said angrily as he stormed into the dinner hall, “When did you exchange your harp for a strategist’s quill?”

“Apparently”, I said sarcastically as I sat across him, to my elder brother’s left, “If a High-King can term that lame plan a strategy, a bard can find mistakes in it.”

“That lame plan was made by someone who has been to Angband and back”, he hissed as he sat to Russandol’s left.

Atarinkë placed a restraining hand on my thigh. Russandol was still industriously picking at the porridge, his eyes trained on the food. The rest of them were staring at us, since I rarely argue and Findekáno never treats me with discourtesy.

“I believe that an Eagle carried you back”, I said frostily, “And that my brother sung to guide you on the first journey.”

Russandol dropped his spoon at my callous words. Findekáno’s eyes widened and he said harshly, “What is between us, Macalaurë, should stay between us. Drag not your brother into it. We shall settle this by a duel.”

“It would be my pleasure”, I said savagely, “First blood, cousin-mine.” 

“Just what would you settle?” Russandol’s voice was a tad cooler than usual, his grey eyes meeting my eyes warily, “I will have no duel under my roof or spilling of kin-blood.”

I gazed back defiantly, saying, “I hold to it that I have just cause for seeking a duel with our cousin.”

“And I repeat”, Russandol said quietly, as he got to his feet and pushed back his chair, “I shall not allow it. Slay orcs and keep a count, if you would. The one with the most kills win.”

“Maitimo”, Findekáno began angrily, “Your brother insulted me - ”

“I will not listen to these petty squabbling”, Russandol said irritably as he walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames, “I do wonder how Nolofinwë managed to hold court with all this brawling.”

Findekáno fell silent, giving me a furious glare. I smiled faintly and turned my attention to the food with gusto.

“Macalaurë”, my brother continued grimly, “Would you join me later?”

“I am afraid that I still have to correct the High-King’s flawless plans”, I said vindictively, watching the expressions of unease on Russandol’s face and anger on my cousin’s.

“Bring them to me”, Russandol said calmly, after a moment. My brothers were staring at us, for I rarely go against Russandol’s will in anything. 

He continued in a brisker tone, “I will finish them, brother, just bring the plans when you come. I shall wait, of course.”

 

I was scowling at the mirror on my chamber walls when Atarinkë entered, an expression of part-amusement and part-sobriety on his handsome features.

“What pit have I dug for myself?” I groaned as he chuckled at my self-contemplative scowl.

“A large one, and a thorny one”, he said wisely, “Now, go lest you want him to come here. Shout at him”, he advised, “That way, you can make sure that he will not start a reasoned argument. Once you step into diplomacy, you stand no chance in winning.”

“I will follow your esteemed counsel”, I grumbled as I let myself out, closing the door on my brother’s merry laughter.

 

I raised my hand to knock at the double doors, but they opened from within, and I was staring at my brother. I remembered suddenly that I had forgotten the plans. How wise of me, I thought ironically. Still, I am a son of Fëanáro, and I shall not want for courage, even when the odds are against me.

“Come in, brother”, he said quietly, his eyes holding mine captive.

I nodded and silently walked into the room. The last time I had been here, I was waiting for him. And I had seen it happen.

He seemed to notice the tightening of my jaw, for he said without preamble, “We are going to war. And this distance between us will not help the cause.”

“I am in no way responsible for the distance”, I said coldly as I strode to the fireplace, “Please, brother, do not destroy the last vestiges of respect I have for you.”

“Sit down”, he said equally cold, as he took the seat across me, “I would ask you to listen to me, as a brother.”

“If I refuse to”, I asked quietly, pausing before him, my eyes boring into his grey ones.

“Then I would order it of you, you swore fealty to me”, he said in a low, resigned tone, “Hear me, and then I shall not prolong this. Much have you put up with, for my sake. One last time, please”, his voice was quieter.

I sank down into the chair across him and leant my head back, closing my eyes in weary anger. Was the anger at myself? Or was it at Findekáno? It no longer was directed at my brother. He sighed and began speaking in a low, musical, haunted tone that shall never stop resounding in the pathways of my memories.

“When I was taken to Angband, brother, they had orders to break me by any means possible. It often involved torture”, he stared into the fire as I opened my eyes in stunned bafflement. Of course, we had all along known it. But for him to speak of it candidly as he was doing now, I shivered.

“Tell me no more”, I said wearily, “It is all in the past. You are here now. And neither Findekáno nor I could have asked for more from the fates.”

“I beg of you”, he said in a haunted voice, the flames reflected in his eyes, “Let me tell this and get it over. I had wanted to bury it ever, but things have come to this. And I see no way other than a complete confession of the past to salvage what I have left.”

“Russandol”, I began aghast at his broken tone, hating myself for my pride. Did it really matter who loved him as long as someone did? As long as he loved someone? Why was I selfish?

“Stop”, he said coldly, meeting my eyes once before staring into the fire again, “As I said, the attentions of my gaolers were often intimate. And I had never experienced anything more mutual than fumbling kisses in the dark with the girl I knew in Formenos. This was raw, and primal. I felt disgusted, I felt scared, I felt pain and…..I felt… aroused”, he spat the last word as he rose to his feet and began pacing, his eyes averted defiantly from my shocked gaze, “What am I to do, brother? How could I tell you that the only touch that could make me feel something was a dominating touch?”

He stopped pacing and walked to the window, his shoulders heaving in emotion. I sat stunned in the chair, my arms clasping the sides in nervous tension. The air hung heavy in the chamber, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

As I slowly registered his bitter confession, I found a thousand occasions in the past where I should have noticed his reaction to things. I had been a fool. His detached abstinence had been not out of lack of interest, but from fear. 

His nonchalant mask when we had watched the warriors duel in the courtyard. His claim that he had not been lucid during those nights when Findekáno had kept watch over him. His readiness to forgive his cousin…

“Russandol”, I said hoarsely, my eyes suddenly prickling and my throat burning, “I never meant to force you into--”

“This conversation?” he laughed sadly, “You left me no choice, Macalaurë. It was either this, or enduring your scorn for Eru knows how long. But I shall not hold it against you. I have never had much choice in anything…in being the heir, in being the oathleader, in being alone…”

“No”, I said quietly, my tears finally falling onto the black robes I wore. Half- fascinated, I stared at them, like jewels on an inky sky they shone. 

“I meant that I cannot satisfy anyone”, he said plainly, his eyes filled with self-derision, “Unless all that they seek is domination.”

“I refuse to believe it”, I said shaken, I could still remember the passionate trembling of his body as he had collapsed against me before we had been interrupted by Atarinkë, “Brother, I would never lie to you. It is”, I waved my hands forcefully, “Just that you have not ever given it a chance.”

“Would you dare to give that a chance had you been I?” he asked simply as he turned to meet my tortured gaze.

“If I had been you”, I whispered truthfully, “I would not have lasted Angband, Russandol. I am not half as brave as you are.”

“I disagree”, he smiled gently, the shadows in his eyes receding slightly, “You are bravery. One day you shall discover it for yourself, your hidden depths.”

I shook my head as he knelt before me and caught a falling tear on his thumb. For a moment he stared at the glistening droplet before saying quietly, “It is a war that I am not keen to have you involved.”

“It is a war that I shall not leave your side whatever may come”, I said defiantly, as I reached to grip his wrist, “Enough have you fought alone, seeking to spare the rest.”

“Nolofinwë fought alone”, he said softly, his eyes faraway.

“He went mad towards the end, according to Artanis”, I shrugged, I know how deeply my brother loved our uncle, but frankly, I have not seen much to revere in the fallen King. 

“It is different”, Russandol looked at me in disbelieving amusement, “He was as a father to me, Macalaurë. Which in no way tampers the regard I hold for you.

I watched the last shadow of his smile vanishing near the corners of his lips. I could not let it escape. He smiles far too less. He has far too less reasons to smile.

Swallowing, I closed my eyes and leant forward. His hand came to rest on my knee as he raised his head so that my lips met his forehead. I cupped his head and sought his lips. His trembling started, but I assured myself that it was not as bad as it had been the other day.

His hand wended its way into the front of my robes, pulling me towards him even as he tried to break the contact of our lips.

“Russandol”, I pulled back concernedly as he slumped backwards, balancing himself on his haunches as he stared at me, his breath coming in heavy, irregular gasps.

“I don’t know how, Macalaurë”, his eyes were dark with desire and fear, “Lead me. Shall we retire?”

“Russandol”, I bent to squeeze his shoulder as he continued staring at me, “It is too early, we need time.”

“So be it”, the insecurity in his eyes gave way to cold resolution, “I see that my confession has unsettled you, as to your feelings for me. I knew it would happen, still I admit that a part of me had hoped it would not matter to you.”

I shook my head resignedly, he was of our house. And there was little chance of ever broaching this matter with him if I refused to treat him as an equal now.

He was briskly pulling out his correspondence from a drawer in the large desk, his mien once again diplomatically sober.

I rose to my feet and followed him to the desk. 

He said crisply, “That is all, Macalaurë. I wish you a good night.”

“Can you give me a good night, Russandol?” I asked him teasingly, watching fascinated the involuntary seep of red that coloured his pale neck.

“This is no matter of lightness, though you might consider it so. We would both preserve what remains of our dignity if we dropped this line of conversation”, he said half-heartedly, his eyes trained on the parchment he had been perusing.

“Love is all about losing dignity”, I murmured as I took the parchment from his limp fingers and scrolled it before placing on the desk. 

He stood stunned as I blew out the candles and then moved towards the inner chambers, my stride deliberately purposeful.

As I opened the door leading into the opulent bed chamber, I turned back and held out my hand. He stood half-shadowed, in the firelight, his frame rigid with nervous tension. I could not see his eyes, for he had closed them as he attempted to focus on his breathing.

I told myself that there was no other way, not for either of us. Only this would set things right, though in itself it is irreparably wrong. But when have those of our house ever traversed the moral paths?

He moved stiffly towards me and placed his hand clumsily in mine. 

I swore that he would never live to regret this.

 

I am afraid that we must have rather resembled two kids playing truant from home. Our hushed silence, averted eyes and tentative handgrips. I smile now, as I write this. We are after all, warriors and kinslayers.

He stood by the bed, awaiting my directions, his grey eyes vulnerable in their stark fear. I was forcibly reminded of my first foray into the lands of pleasure…it had been with Artanis, one Valinorean idle evening. We had both been naïve, but determined. (The Experiment)

“I would rather die than ever cause you harm”, I said in a voice of ringing conviction, forcing him to jerk and look at me in bewilderment.

“I trust you, I trust myself with you”, he said simply, before starting to disrobe, his movements elegant despite his maimed arm.

I placed my hands on his. He trembled, but let me guide him under the covers of the bed. I undressed and followed him. 

“Would you not want the light?” he murmured as I blew the candles out.

“Light?” I asked uncertainly as he rose to his knees and placed his hand on the headboard, I could not see his expression.

Worried, I lit a candle and then had to suppress a gasp at the magnificent portrait he made, his burnished red hair thrown back, his muscles taut and his elegant spine curving gently into his hips. I could not help myself as I ran a finger along his thigh, eliciting a shiver from him.

“I would do it the usual way, but I am afraid I may not be able to balance”, he said quietly.

“The usual way”, I repeated nonplussed.

He turned to meet my bewildered gaze as he said, “Yes, on the fours”, a seep of red flushed his cheeks but he continued bravely, “That is the usual way, is it not?”

I had a flash of tortured imagination as I pictured him thus on a cold stone floor in the dungeons of Angband, jeering shadows tormenting him. I shook my head sadly as I watched the mix of vulnerability, resolution, bravery and fear writ large on his features. They had broken him much more than anyone had realized. 

“Would you prefer it?” he asked solemnly, though his voice lacked its usual imperiousness.

I placed my arms around him and kissed his cheeks as I whispered, “Just do me a very great favour and shut up.”

He stiffened in my hold, but I managed to coax him down into the bed beside me. For a few moments he lay stiff, staring against the ceiling, his jaw set in that determined manner I was so familiar with.

I fingered a wisp of his hair as I contemplated how I could proceed. I had no prior experience with males, and his actions frightened me. Perhaps it was his matter-of-fact acceptance of the subjugation that frightened me.

“You find me unsuited”, he said dully, his grey eyes cold and hard as steel in the dim light. 

“Please”, I begged him, “Speak no more. I am overwhelmed, that is all. And I am sure that we can indulge in something less strenuous than rutting this first time.”

His eyes widened as he said disbelievingly, “I cannot believe that you used the word, Macalaurë! Poets should not, it lacks rhyme and metre, rutting!”

I smiled as he laughed, clearly taken aback by my use of the word. The faint lines on his forehead vanished as the sound of his melodious voice pervaded the chamber. It had been too long. 

I rarely laugh. I guess Artanis and I take after her father in this regard. But Russandol, though his bouts of laughter are fewer than those of our siblings and cousins, indulges more than I do. That, of course, was before the exile. I treasure those rare moments when he fully gives into mirth. The grey eyes twinkling, the light on his features…

At any rate, I had achieved my aim of relaxing us both. He sighed as he turned to face me and said with languid resignation, “All in your good hands then. I promise not to speak again.”

 

I have no words to exactly pinpoint what was different. But it was. Being with my wife, being with Artanis…and being with him, there was an ocean of difference. The sensations as he lay pliant under my hands, his grey eyes trusting as they stared into my gaze, his limbs coiling about the covers, his fingers tentatively touching my torso. 

I pulled the covers higher to our necks and began cautiously trailing my fingers downward. He gasped as I brushed against his arousal and started to shiver uncontrollably. I wondered sadly at his insecurity. Once more I cursed Angband. Had he ever experienced release from pleasure? Or were his experiences all confined to the captivity episode of his life?

His low entreaties had given way to an incoherent babbling in Quenya as he clung to my shoulder, his head thrown back, his features contorted as I played my fingers on his body. I had never seen someone reach their climax ever before in my life. But instinctively, from the grip on my shoulder, I knew that he was fast approaching the pinnacle. I speeded my ministrations, watching him arch rigidly into the air as he reached the peak before collapsing limply onto the bed, soaked in sweat, his whole frame wracked by the convulsions. 

I dragged him to me and soothed his forehead as he broke down into harsh, dry sobs, overwhelmed by all that had happened. I held him as he finally allowed himself to grieve for the first time since Angband. 

Finally his sobs subsided as he drifted away into weary, exhausted reverie. I eased myself before climaxing quietly and then settled to watch over him.

 

I did not know how he would react in the morning. I was pondering the events of the night too deeply that I did not even realize the daylight creeping into the luxuriously furnished room. 

“I suppose it was a one-time happening”, his clear voice broke into my brooding, “But I am infinitely grateful, brother. And at the same time, I apologize that I could not serve your needs..I wished to”, I began to cut him off, but he continued in a small, but defiantly brave voice, “As I told you, I cannot please anyone. I was trying to…”, his cheeks crimsoned as he pulled the covers higher in an unconscious movement, “But I was most distracted by your dexterous fingers..”, a sense akin to awe rose on his features as he gazed at my clasped fingers resting on my lap.

“I would be honoured if you allow me these little liberties”, I said quietly as I bent to press my lips to his jaw, “And from yesterday’s lessons, I have learnt that I have just cause to fear Findekáno as well as the rest of your valiant admirers.”

“Oh”, he mouthed amazed as he stared at me disbelievingly.

“Indeed”, I laughed as I swooped to press another kiss to his cheek, “Now I know of the perfect way to shut you up.”

“You are very welcome”, he said drowsily happy, “to indulge in all those little liberties.”

“I do intend to”, I laughed again, watching him curl languidly as he tried to keep the warmth from fleeing his body, “After all the time I have been reduced to being a covert watcher.”

“You should have acted”, he yawned, “Then you might have found yourself with the original, untainted, unmaimed version, you know.”

“You would not have been who you are now. I would never have learnt to treasure you as I do now”, I shook my head, “I would choose this version over the original heir to the throne of the Noldor anyday. Your wisdom, your understanding, your sagacity, your resolute pride…..much that has happened brought out the best in us all.”

“You would do wonderfully for the happiness propaganda that Arafinwë liked to talk of”, he smiled wryly before closing his eyes, “As things stand, Findekáno would be very furious if you do not heave yourself out of that comfortable chair and bring those plans you mangled up most abominably to me.”

I glared at him as he lounged on the bed in a thoroughly feline manner, his face relaxed and soft in the sunlight. He looked younger than I had seen him in a long time. He smiled drowsily at me as he cuddled his legs to his chest in a futile attempt to ward off the cold of Himring.

I rose to my feet and pulled the coverlets onto his unclad frame. 

He caught one of my hands and squeezed it saying, “Thank you.”

We knew that he was not thanking me for the coverlet. I would have been content to stand there and watch those grey eyes shining with pure happiness. For now, there were no shadows of the past darkening them. 

“If I could bring back the joy to his eyes by any means I possess, I would”, Nolofinwë exclaimed as we watched Russandol resolutely relearn the art of swordfighting from Findaráto.

I had never held our uncle in much regard, but he had loved my brother almost as much as I do. And I wish that he had seen the peaceful joy that lit the grey eyes he had loved to watch.

“One would think that you are wondering about something miraculous”, my brother complained, “Get the plans, lest you want a duel with Findekáno. I, for one, have very selfish reasons to not see you in any duel.”

I smiled and moved out of the chambers straightening my wrinkled robes.

 

“So?” Atarinkë asked concernedly, as he caught up with me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked bewildered.

“I stood guard all night, I wanted to be on hand in case you had a falling out”, he smiled sheepishly, “Shall I take it that it is solved?”

“Perfectly”, I laughed, I had rarely felt such a high degree of self-accomplishment and confidence in my life.

“I am glad”, he said sincerely, “But, brother, never let the ghosts of the past creep in.”

“I shall not”, I assured him confidently, of course, that morning I would have even taken on Morgoth in single-combat.

* * *

“This is alarming,” Russandol murmured as he rose in his stirrups. “The fifth false ambush that Uldor has alerted us to.”

“I have always mistrusted men.” I stated plainly as I rode forward to meet Curufin’s scouts. They bore an epistle from Findekáno asking us to hasten to his aid.

“We must move, be there an ambush or not.” Russandol called to his warriors, “Lord High-King calls for aid!”

I felt the familiar bitterness rise in my mouth as I heard my brother; the lawful heir; refer to our cousin as The Lord High-King. Nolofinwë, I had not begrudged our uncle my respect when he had been our ruler. He had been wise and compassionate, truly a ruler who deserved my respect. But Findekáno had no redeeming attribute other than his valour. I have always equated valour with hotheadedness and did not consider it a particularly redeeming attribute.

“Macalaurë, keep close to me, brother,” Atarinkë murmured to me as he rode forth, his helm shining in the harsh sunlight.

I followed him, trying to temper the visceral hatred that rose in me as I took in the lines of human warriors that Russandol had formed an alliance with. I have never trusted humans; but the Southerners that Ulfang led grated even on the nerves of my elder brother. And it is a fact that he is the most unprejudiced amongst us.

“Your brother is a handsome person.” Uldor attempted to draw me into conversation. “Splendid in armour.” 

My hatred increased a few times over as I listened to his unintentionally bawdy comments. I glanced across at my brother. He was, as always, on the forefront of our lines, leading by his sheer fearlessness and courage. I am sure that not even our father had made such a spectacle on the battlefield. 

“My family would find such a remark most offensive, My Lord,” I hissed to Uldor angrily. “Lord Maedhros does not don the armour to exhibit his gracefulness.”

“Well, I must say that your family is endowed with grace rarely seen even amongst your kind...Why, Lady Galadriel--”, he broke off suddenly.

I narrowed my eyes and stared at him suspiciously, “Where have you seen Lady Galadriel? Have you entered Doriath?”

He coughed saying, “Merely hearsay, tales of her beauty are told at our campfires, My Lord Maglor.”

I could sense a lie when I heard one. I glared at him before drawing away to join Atarinkë at the head of our column. Russandol was somewhere to my right, coordinating the armies of our host. I wondered where Uldor had met Artanis. She had not left Doriath since her marriage; except for the one time she had ventured outside to warn me. So Uldor must have met her then. Why?

×××

 

The war did not go our way from the start. We reached Findekáno too late. I could only see the flames devouring him. Our armies halted as they saw the blazing pyre of the king. Somewhere to our left, I could see the banners of Turkáno fluttering bravely. Before I could think more on it, we were in the middle of the fray. 

“Macalaurë!” Curufin’s voice was strained. “Maitimo is riding into the fire!”

I cursed foully before trying to cut through the melee to reach Russandol who was frantically riding towards the inferno that had consumed Findekáno’s armies.

“MACALAURË!” 

Turkáno’s voice was a harsh reminder of the time that had elapsed since the Mereth Aderthad. I felt relief rise in me as I turned to look upon his familiar features. I do not think that I have ever more appreciated seeing him.

“TURKÁNO!” Atarinkë rushed to our cousin and gripped his arm. “We had not counted on your arrival.”

“I had to, knowing that the lot of you are capable of doing nothing right.” Turkáno smiled sadly as he looked upon the burning spectacle before us. 

He had never been close to Findekáno, I knew. His sagacious, introverted nature was in stark contrast to his brother’s exuberant moods.

Russandol was asking his warriors to extinguish the fire. I moved towards him. But Turkáno caught my arm exclaiming, “Traitors!”

For Uldor was leading his men to the melee around the fire. His intent was clearly not extinguishing the flames. I shouted in fury and rushed forth, Atarinkë behind me. Russandol was still intent upon his task, not noticing that a fight had erupted in his ranks between the traitors and those loyal to him. Uldor was inching closer to my brother, his accursed sword raised high. 

A fury rose in me; akin to that which I had experienced only when news of my brother’s capture by Angband had reached me. I am certain that I have never ridden faster in my life as I did then. My scream of anger was coloured by the blood that stained my sword, splashing onto my white charger. I recall dimly that my brother’s grey eyes widened in amazement as they took in the sight before him. We were separated by the battle. I found myself once more fighting beside Atarinkë and Turkáno, and a treasured sense of being surrounded by kin pervaded me. We were in charge of securing the path to our retreat. I could see my younger brothers following in our wake, leading their defeated armies to safety.

Russandol was covering our retreat, along with the surviving commanders of Findekáno’s armies. He made a terrible sight, striking fear and awe into the hearts of those who looked upon him. I, who knew him so well, could see the desperation and grief in his visage, as he mourned the fiery death of his dearest cousin; for Findekáno had been his dearest cousin, despite all that had happened between them. 

×××

 

“What made you come?” Atarinkë asked Turkáno as they began building a low campfire.

I sat down cross-legged beside them, keeping a wary eye on the sentinels. My twin brothers were talking in hushed voices with Ecthelion, I caught Findaráto’s name coming up once or more in their whispered conversation. 

“Findaráto, I did not see him before he left on his errand. I am cloistered in those mountains, and I feared that I may never see the rest of you again. I am glad that I came. I spoke with my brother; he seemed to know that his time was drawing to an end. He wished to see Idril...and mentioned something about apologizing to Artanis and Maitimo.” Turkáno’s voice broke slightly as he accepted a chunk of roast meat from Atarinkë.

“Artanis?” Atarinkë asked curious. “I was not aware that they had had a falling out.” He shrugged as he bit into the chunk of meat he held. “I am glad that you are here, Turkáno.”

“Take Russandol’s tent,” I said gravely as I watched them gaze rather wistfully at each other. “I am sure that he will be occupied with his commanders this night.”

Turkáno smiled gratefully at me and then walked to Ecthelion’s side, probably delegating his responsibilities to his second. Then he returned and held out his hand to Atarinkë, who accepted it with a wan smile before leading the way to Russandol’s tent. Russandol refuses to sleep in the open even during patrol rides and prefers privacy in his resting arrangements. While I would never have offered the use of his tent to anyone else, I feared that this would be the last time that Atarinkë might see Turkáno.

×××

 

Russandol reached the camp at the crack of dawn, along with the last group of surviving warriors. He did not even bother to dismount as he rushed to Ecthelion and bade him prepare for the retreat. 

I stopped him as he made to enter his tent. “Turkáno and our brother are enjoying a night of well-deserved reunion there. Is it extremely necessary to awaken them?”

The grey eyes that had always held a measure of compassion were now shot with blood as he replied coldly, “I have no time to facilitate loving reunions. Turkáno must leave now, if he wishes to save the lives of his warriors. I can only guarantee him a day’s headstart, even if I engage the enemy with the full might of our combined armies and those of the Edain.”

“Maitimo!” Turkáno emerged sleepily from the tent, his hair all in disarray. He looked remarkably young and innocent with his usual stern visage replaced by contented happiness. I wondered if he would ever look thus again. 

“You must leave, Lord High-King,” Russandol replied archly as he turned to examine the blurry smoke a few tens of miles before us, “Balrogs and goblins come. It might end in a siege. Escape while you can, Turkáno.”

“I am not willing to take on the kingship. I am not leaving your side; I mean to fight till the end along with the rest of my family. Enough have I hidden!” Turkáno’s voice brooked no opposition, “You are outnumbered and exhausted, Maitimo. You cannot win here. If I stay, we might at least attempt to ward the blow.”

Russandol stared at Turkáno impassively before speaking, “I will not allow this, cousin. Leave now and save your skin. I promise that none of us who remain to secure your retreat shall die today. I have asked Ecthelion to crown you in your walled city. My warriors were able to find the helm of your brother. Now, leave; and let the fray be ours.”

“How can you be confident, Maitimo?” Turkáno snarled. “My confident brother was once sure that neither fire nor metal could bring down his valour. Yet, he lies in a puddle of melted metal and burnt flesh; a sorry fall for the might of the Noldor!”

“Your brother was brought down with the flails of fire and equally with the price of betrayal;” Russandol murmured harshly. “And so shall you be. In fire and betrayal shall end your vows and my oaths, cousin.”

I cut in sharply, fear rising in me for I had never seen my brother so heartlessly cruel, “Russandol, you are being vague and rude. Let our cousin decide for himself; he is now king.”

He turned to me, his grey eyes reckless and fey. I shivered as his gaze bored into my eyes for a long moment before he laughed coldly.

“Macalaurë, stay out of that does not concern you, brother. Turkáno, prepare to leave. If you would continue being stupid and stubborn, I shall have to resort to crueller measures...Go now, cousin. You have a daughter to think of.” Russandol had softened his tone with effort.

“I have to think of him. I cannot desert him!” Turkáno snarled as a sleep-tousled Atarinkë emerged from the tent, probably roused awake by our fiery voices.

“Is it not too early in the morning to debate about desertions?” Atarinkë muttered as he strode to Turkáno’s side and squeezed his arm in a gesture of simple affection. “What are you on about now, Turkáno?”

“Nothing at all. Your wise brother,” Turkáno glared at a nonchalant Russandol, “He has seen it fit to command my troops into full-retreat. He wants me to leave like a skulking coward while the rest of you secure my escape!”

“Maitimo!” Atarinkë began furiously, but Russandol cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

We could see Ecthelion leading Turkáno’s armies into a defensive formation as they prepared to leave. For a moment, Turkáno stared at the scene before rounding on us. 

“Macalaurë, would you mind telling him that his insanity should be curbed to his warriors and not my army?”Turkáno hissed angrily.

“Cousin, pay no attention to his over protectiveness,” I said quietly, Russandol strode away furiously. I sighed and then continued wearily, “If you will retreat then we shall buy you time. I would be glad to know that you have made it to safety. But if you shall fight beside us, I shall be equally glad.”

“I shall not leave,” Turkáno said coldly, even as Russandol returned with half a dozen warriors who were under his personal command in Himring.

Atarinkë exclaimed in comprehension as Russandol murmured an apology before beckoning his soldiers to drag Turkáno away. 

“MAITIMO; YOU UNREASONABLE PIG!” Turkáno swore foully, even as he tried to extricate himself with dignity from the hold of the soldiers.

Atarinkë rushed to his side, cursing loudly. I crossed to face Russandol, hissing, “What is wrong with you?”

“I am an unreasonable pig, and I do not frankly care as long as he gets to safety. He is all that remains of Nolofinwë’s line. And I intend to keep him alive,” Russandol said coldly as the warriors separated a deadly furious Atarinkë from his cousin.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS, COUSIN!” Turkáno shouted as he finally shook off his restrainers and stalked to embrace Atarinkë.“I shall leave now, for another division in our lines over your insanity would cost our cause too much. I bid you well, Macalaurë, and I do not fancy your task at all!”

“Russandol.” I started a last ditch effort to salvage the situation. “You do know that this will not--”

Russandol shrugged and walked away, his eyes dull and seemingly unaffected by the happenings. I could only watch helplessly as Atarinkë and Turkáno embraced desolately before our cousin strode off to join Ecthelion at the head of their army. I did not have time to speak with Atarinkë for the enemy was at our doorstep and we were all required to fight with all we had.

×××

 

Though Russandol tried to draw me into conversation once or twice during that long, bitter battle, I could not forgive his actions. I merely did what I had vowed to do, I fought by his side. There were times when he wantonly courted death, venturing into the enemy lines with reckless courage. Findekáno’s valour paled in comparison to my brother’s wild forays into the midst of the very creatures that had imprisoned and tortured him. I was torn between my anger at his callous treatment of Turkáno and fear at his manoeuvres.

“Brother,” it was a weary Atarinkë. “You know that he does not take well to your remonstrations, though he might acknowledge that you are right. Just get him off the forefront now and I shall signal our retreat. There is an endless array of these creatures for each that we kill. We cannot hold on any longer. We are defeated and all that his recklessness might achieve is captivity. There are no more valiant heroes to rescue him.”

I nodded, he was right. Russandol would probably court death until I went and begged him to stop. My pride itched, but we could not afford to fight on. More was at stake than a rift between brothers. 

“Russandol!” I rode my charger before him as he returned unscratched from his latest foray into enemy lines.

“Later, Macalaurë,” he said briefly, not even sparing me a glance as he stared at the sea of advancing goblins.

I lost my patience and my much-tried temper. I shouted at him, “I SHALL KILL YOU MYSELF IF DEATH IS WHAT YOU SEEK SO DESPERATELY!”

He paused in his tracks and met my eyes. His grey eyes widened in dismay as he took in my features. I wondered what he saw. But he nodded shakily and signalled the retreat. 

×××

 

“Just try to rein in your temper,” Atarinkë said thoughtfully as I seethed and fumed. “You know that he was overwrought by the betrayal, the death of Findekáno and the immense losses. And the defeat. He had hoped to end our oath, once and for all.”

“That does not give him the right to despatch his own cousin into safety, not taking into account that the said cousin’s presence saved our armies from total demolition!” I said angrily as we watched a highly nervous Russandol enter his tent.

“I am not sure if you should have this conversation with him now, you are in a temper,” Atarinkë said plainly, as he fingered the helm Turkáno had gifted him.

“I see no reason why I should spare him that,” I said frostily before following my brother into the tent.

×××

 

“I had to do what I did, and I have no regrets,” he said hastily as he saw me enter the tent, “Our cousin should lead our people if we fail.”

I shook my head in incredulous disbelief at his matter-of-fact reasoning and countered, “Perhaps you might have understood if you had ever been in his place. You revel in seeing others safe, brother. Once, it was I who was left to grieve as you packed me off to safety while you went to parley with Angband. I shall not relive the memories of the past, for it is certain that you suffered grievously enough for your mistake. But you have not learnt from the past, have you, Russandol? Again you send him off to his mountain city while you take up the brunt of the fight. Have you any idea how worthless he might feel?”

“Worthless?”Russandol spluttered. “Macalaurë, it is precisely because of his worth that I had to take such measures!”

“He came to aid our cause. He failed to save his brother. He failed to help us win. All that he wanted was to fight till the end alongside us, alongside our brother!” I shouted passionately. He flinched and looked away. “But you shall know of loyalty only when you learn to love selflessly, brother. And I see it shall not happen in the foreseeable future!”

Panic and dismay flared in his grey eyes as he took in my harsh words. He gulped before saying in a strained voice, “Tell me that you did not mean what you said, Macalaurë.”

“I see no reason why I should rescind the truth!” I spat bitterly, before turning to leave. 

Atarinkë was right; I was too exhausted and angry to reason with Russandol right now. I would probably regret all that I spoke in the heat of anger. But I could not stop my tongue voicing what was festering in my heart, ever since the beginning of his callous words.

He rushed to my side in a flurry and captured my wrist with a trembling hand as he spoke, “Macalaurë, I did not mean to deliberately wound our cousin. You know that he would never have gone if I had not been so cruel. I had no choice.”

“How is that an explanation? Our brother will never forgive you.” I paused and stared at his fingers on my wrist.

“I will speak with him after things are calmer. Do you forgive me?” he asked tentatively, his eyes brimming with hope and fear.

I felt wonder, anger, exhaustion, fear and an all-consuming love rise in me as I clasped his fingers with both my hands. How could he be so callous one instant and incredibly apologetic and earnest the next moment?

“Is my forgiveness worth anything to you?” I asked quietly.

“Everything.” He said in a voice barely more audible than a whisper.

It broke my famed self-restraint; the impact of his grey, haunted eyes crashed down upon my conscience melting away all my discipline, propriety and reserve. I clutched his hand in mine and pulled him to me. For a moment, he stiffened and glanced warningly at the pathetically thin walls of the tent. But I had rapidly devolved into a creature, primal and wild. I pushed him down onto the thin mattress on the ground and bore down upon him. 

“The camp will know---” he began fearfully before I reduced him to a long moan as I grasped his face and nipped at his pale, but grimy neck. 

He arched unconsciously to expose his neck further to my ministrations, his hand alternating between gripping my hair and stuffing his fingers into his mouth to subdue his groans. I held him down easily, for he was exhausted to the core by his performance on the battlefield today. He twisted in a bid to free himself from my hold in vain as I held his legs between mine and bore down upon him with my entire weight.

I leant back as I watched him try to break free of my hold, panic flaring in his eyes as he realized he could not escape. For a moment, his gaze met mine before he whispered brokenly, “Let me up, Macalaurë. I cannot abide this position.”

“One stroke of misfortune today would have seen you in this position before and beneath far crueller captors!” I spat at him. “Did you forget that in your reckless rides today? Or were you eager to return to their tender care?”

“I said I am sorry about Turkáno!” he said panting, the fear darkening his eyes. “Let me UP, NOW!”

“This is not about our cousin; this is about your recklessness!” I hissed as I twisted his sole hand, he parted his mouth in an exhalation of pain.

“It was necessary!” he almost implored as he averted his eyes, now filled with pain and fear at my actions. “Please, brother, I cannot afford this now.”

I did not reply; but the hot, wet liquid trickling down my cheeks told me that I too could not afford this now. Yet a part of me sought to make him understand what he had risked. I wanted him to cease this naive recklessness.

I undid my belt and pressed down upon his prone body. He lay still, probably anticipating an apology and a kiss. I had enough of this dancing around the past. I have always known what he means to me. It was appallingly clear that he did not see it though.

He exclaimed in pure horror as I tied his wrist to a peg of the tent. A moment later, he began to wrest his fist, in a desperate bid to release himself. Though my skills on the battlefield compare in no way to his magnificence, now he was entirely at my mercy. 

“If you had been taken prisoner, they would have bound you spread-eagled.” I nudged my legs between his longer ones. 

“Please!” he whispered as he went stiff underneath me. “You have made me understand, brother. Now, if you have ever cared for me, please stop this.”

“I do this merely because I care for you too much,” I spat as I tore his tunic apart shutting out his pained exclamations.

Fear at my actions, desire for him, relief that he was alive and in my arms...they broke me down entirely as I bent to kiss his quivering chest. Sweat streamed into the hollows of his collarbone saltening his grimy skin. I ran my fingers along his ribs and gripped his waist fiercely as once more a picture of Uldor preparing to slay him rose in my mind. 

“I need to know that you are alive,” I whispered as I kissed him ruthlessly, not caring for the blood that I drew in my passion. Indeed, the warmth and the tang of his blood merely served to assure me that he was alive.

A part of my mind wondered what judgment those guardians of Valinor would pronounce when they saw us. 

I hastily pulled down his leggings; I believe that is when he started screaming nonsensically. His eyes were dilated by fear as he tried to throw me off. I clamped my left hand over his mouth and tried to insinuate my right hand between his clamped thighs. He screamed and jerked upwards madly. I lost my balance and toppled off from my position atop him. The peg gave away under his pulling and in a brilliant anticlimax, the tent collapsed upon us.

×××

 

Why does everything go wrong in my life?

×××

* * *

I think that I have messed up my life and my brother’s sanity with my peerless flair. He shuns me as if I am Morgoth Bauglir. All my instructions from him come through our younger brothers. I had tried apologizing, but he had waved me away breezily saying that it was not of much consequence. 

“You were insane,” Atarinkë remarked knowledgeably.

“Thank you for your enlightenment, it was all that I needed right now.” I clamped my mouth shut to prevent further sarcasm.

The official version is that Russandol panicked while I was trying to treat his wounds and that his long limbs contributed to bringing down the tent upon us. 

The only good thing about having a brood of brothers is that they will be the first to reach you when you are in trouble. By the time Atarinkë and Tyelkormo managed to get the heavy cloth of the tent off us, Russandol had kicked nearly every inch of my poor body. He had been screaming so fearfully that I had to clamp his mouth with my hands, receiving generously given bites in return. 

Carnistro’s exclamation of sadistic amusement at my plight still rankled in my ears. It was all that I could do not to run myself on the nearest sword. Russandol was too wild to care about humiliation as he tried to pull his wrist free off the peg that had caused the entire trouble. Atarinkë had freed him. I still remember Russandol scrambling to his feet and striding off without even a glance of gratitude to our rescuers. He had accepted a cloak from one of his warriors without a word. Atarinkë had spawned the tale of the wound and the panic-attack.

“We shall be travelling to Ossiriand in the company of the Green Elves,” Atarinkë told me. “I cannot stand Cìrdan and I have no wish to see that misbegotten son of our cousin’s.”

“I must see my wife. And Russandol will be keen to see the ‘scion’.” I laughed humourlessly as I remembered Russandol’s excitement when he had heard the news about the birth of Findekáno’s son.

“You might travel with us. I think that if you go with him, you shall merely be at odds again. We cannot risk it in the presence of Cìrdan’s household.” Atarinkë examined his reflection in the murky lake that we were passing.

He looked ghastly; in all the years of war and cruelty, I had never seen him so gaunt. Defeat was taking its toll on us. I debated if I could risk taking a peep at my reflection in the lake. Then I decided not to; I could barely stand the sight of myself even in the best of health.

“I am not coming with you. You know well that someone needs to keep an eye on him.” I nodded at the cloaked figure of Russandol before us, his spine stiffened as if he knew instinctively I had been speaking of him. “He is not himself.”

“Being thrown down upon the ground and tied up to a tent-peg will not do wonders for anybody’s temper, Macalaurë.”

I am forced to concede his point.

×××

 

“You look horrible,” my wife told me frankly as she helped me take off my riding cloak.

“I think that is the general consensus.” 

I sighed as I put my sword away from her eyes. I would have to clean it. I did not want her to see the bloodstains. I had been riding alone in the marshes again and had been set upon by orcs. Cìrdan’s mansion was a bustling place. Though the mariner had an entry door barricaded from the general public so that we could use it, I still felt the eyes of the Sindar on my back each time I ventured outside. 

Russandol, for his part, was content to remain closeted in his chambers and hold discussions with Cìrdan. I think the mariner has a fond spot for him. That might have something to do with the fact my brother resembles our grandfather much. And to be fair, his personal charm is not to be left out from the reckoning.

I was mostly alone. My wife had her own interests and pursuits. But she tried to spend time with me. She always made it a point to update me about my brother’s condition since he was not speaking with me. She did not ask me about the cause of the rift. I am glad of that; I am an extremely poor liar. 

“Things are worse with your brother, though. Cìrdan is most concerned about him. He has been staying overnight with Lord Russandol to give him company.” My wife informed me as she placed a steaming mug of broth in my hands before settling beside me with her sewing.

I stared at her cheerful, elegant form and felt the greatest upsurge of regret I had ever felt. With deep feeling, I began, “Carnilote, I wish you had chosen someone better. This is a poor parody of the life that you actually deserve, you know.”

“My worth was never the question.” She set down her sewing and stared at me with her brownish black eyes. She sighed before continuing, “I have no regrets, Macalaurë. If it had not been you, it would have been Lord Findekáno. And I have no qualms in telling you that I would have married you thrice over him. He was,” she searched for apt words, “not what one might have expected him to be.”

My cousin had strewn a spread of unhappiness and hatred. My brother, Artanis, Ereinion...there were many who have just reasons to rejoice in his death.

Ereinion, to my utter shock, accused Russandol of being the wedge that drove apart his parents. Though Russandol had calmly accepted the young boy’s tirade, it did break my heart to see my brother’s turmoil-filled eyes at the moment. I did not blame him for remaining closeted in his chambers. Including our host, almost everyone held the view that we were there to grieve over Findekáno, who had always been spoken of as Russandol’s lover.

“Come now, my dear husband,” she laughed as she set aside her work and leant against me, drawing my arms about her. “Let me see if you can still play your instrument well.”

“It is not right to--”, she kissed away the rest of my words. I gave in contentedly. 

×××

 

“Are you mad?” I hissed at my brother as we faced each other across Cìrdan’s private dining table.

“I am being more reasonable than is my wont these days.” My brother’s lips quirked in a wistful smile.

I shook my head as I glared at Carnilote. She glared back at me, her anger clearly showing in her beautiful Noldorin features.

“They are determined to go, with or without our aid. And I am sure that Dior will have them strung and quartered. Doriath is a wild place and the remnants of the Lady’s magic still linger. I will not have my brothers killed if I can help it.” Russandol waved his arm at the map he had spread on the table.

×××

 

I did not like it. To kill as we had done on the night of our Exile could be at least attributed to our panic. But this would be cold-blooded. Going there with the sole purpose of retrieving our jewel; a jewel that Dior had sworn to protect with his own life, I was sure that it would end in bloodshed. My brothers were weary and resolved by our defeat. We had no one to turn to. Our uncle was dead. Our father was dead. Russandol was caught in his own world of grief, loss and ghosts of the past. 

“You could warn them,” my wife said quietly. 

We had been standing on a balcony that faced the sea. The scent drove me mad. If I had been a lesser soul, I am sure that I would have jumped into the water and swum westward till I had the good fortune to drown.

“We need the jewel, Carnilote. If I were to warn them, they would simply flee with it. They would never consent to hand it over. The Sindar are no less proud than us,” I sighed as I ran my fingers through her hair, “They will never let us have it as long as they can flee and fight. Warning them would be merely delaying the inevitable. As Russandol says, our brothers cannot be stopped. If they were to go without Russandol’s leadership, I know that we will have to light their pyres. They take after our father. They are all brashness and arrogance; they have no grasp of the technical aspects of leadership and war.”

“The lesser evil then, is to kill for saving your brothers than to see them killed.” Carnilote looked away from me angrily.

“I do not know if it is the lesser evil. I merely know that we are not noble enough for saving our enemies at the cost of our brothers’ lives.”

×××

 

We travelled to the outskirts of Doriath. The woods whispered of threats and menace. Russandol had warned us that the woods would stay faithful to their Sindar friends. Our warriors were spooked by the rustling of the leaves, for there was no wind.

“It is merely the last traces of the girdle’s power. There is no need to worry,” Russandol assured us as we faltered. “All we have to defeat is a handful of people already at war with the Naugrim.”

“You make it sound simple,” Atarinkë muttered under his breath. But Russandol seemed to have heard it for he glared and turned away.

“How do you explain ‘a handful of people’?” Carnistro cut in sharply, his eyes glittering in suppressed anger. “You told me bare weeks ago that it was a formidable population.”

Russandol did not deign to reply as he spurred his mount forward.

“He warned them!” Carnistro hissed before moving to join Russandol at the front. 

I sighed as I glanced at Atarinkë. We should have known. Russandol was too incapable of masterminding cold-blooded murder. He would rather lose the jewel than slaughtering people for it. He must have contrived to send across a message to our cousin in Doriath. 

Seeing the dejected, furious expressions on my younger brother’s faces, I wished fervently that for Russandol’s sake, the jewel was still held in Doriath. Else this would be one rift that he would never be able to mend. The oath was wearing us all down. The proximity to the sea which we had in the last few weeks had not helped us. It reared in us memories of our home across the water. I was furious myself. I had hoped that this would at least result in satisfying one-third of our oath sworn once in Tirion and once more by our father’s deathbed.

“Turkáno told me. He told me that Maitimo could never uphold the oath if it took another kinslaying. He warned me. I should have listened to him and let him stay. He could have prevented this.” Atarinkë continued muttering all the way until the gates of Doriath.

 

×××

 

I kept a silent watch. Tranquil and serene. 

I stooped to tap Curufin’s forehead. He had always hated it when we had been young. He would wake up immediately and chase me all around our grandfather’s home. I prepared to run; he would surely wake up. Then he would certainly start chasing me. I frowned; I did not know the ways in these stupid, dark caves. He would easily catch me then. He was a good tracker. Luckily for me, he did not wake up.

I was bored. I could not imagine how my brothers could sleep so peacefully in this suffocating, damp, smelly cave. 

I idly smeared the red liquid that trickled from my hands onto my face. I could try frightening Russandol when he arrived to listen to my harp practise. He hates the colour. I wondered why, since his hair is more or less the same shade as this liquid. Maybe I should smear it on my teeth too. I nodded to myself, yes, that would certainly get his attention. Of course, I was doing this solely to get my brother’s attention.

“Macalaurë,” a broken voice whispered behind me.

I turned to see a beautiful woman, though rather pale. She looked faint, her mouth parted in a silent gasp. She reached with trembling fingers to touch my cheek and exhaled in relief.

“Don’t worry.” I tried to smile like my cousin Findaráto does when he charms women. “It is just to scare my brother. If I scare him, I will have his attention.”

She shook her head mutely and averted her eyes to my sleeping brothers, tears falling down her face.

“You shouldn’t cry. They are sleeping. Now stop crying. My brother will be coming and he shall get angry with me if I made you cry.” My perfect reasoning was complemented by a charming smile.

For some reason she exclaimed again, “NO! Macalaurë!” and buried her face in the front of my tunic, her hands clasping my arms with a fierce, desperate strength as she broke down completely.

It was then that sanity made its reappearance in my brain. I clung to my cousin and we slid to the cold stone ground, our tears mingling with the streams of blood that pooled at our feet. 

×××

 

I shall never forgive Russandol for the death of our brothers.

×××

* * *

“I cannot believe it.” My voice left no room for further argument.

Artanis continued her arguments passionately, her fervently shining eyes reminding me rather unfavourably of her cowardly father, “You should have known better than to have sexual congress then. Cìrdan implores you to return and be present for the birthing. It is necessary, Macalaurë. It is your child who grows in her womb.”

“You don’t understand, Artanis.” 

I slumped back against the only chair in her chambers and studied the cavern ceiling with disgust. I wondered if the disgust stemmed from my dislike of the dismal architecture of her husband’s people or from my self-hatred. If Findaráto had been there to see me, he would have laughed at my inner philosophizing. 

Artanis came to stand before me, her features set in sternness as she asked, “What is that I fail to understand? I stayed back for you. And I have been caring for your warriors relentlessly so that they are in fit shape to travel and slay more of my husband’s people in a bid to recover that thrice cursed jewel that everybody covets except those who have a claim on it.”

I wearily rubbed my knuckles over my closed eyelids and heard her sigh. I should have said something to alleviate us both from this melancholy. But I could not find the will to do that. I settled for a groan and rose from my chair. 

“You will not last the day if you attempt to thwart sleep again.” She turned to pull down the covers from her bed and briskly straightened the sheets, “Sleep, cousin. I will try to do something about the rest. I have a draught for you. It will probably make you nauseous when you wake, but at this point going without sleep is the greater danger.”

“Thank you.”

I sighed and accepted the draught from her hands. I even allowed her to undress me. I usually abhor women touching my armour and battle-field clothing. They are creatures that define purity and inspire deep respect in me. I would never sully their hands with blood and gore. But something of the fact that it was my cousin helped me make an exception then. 

“I once scraped off the skin from my palms,” she said conversationally as she pushed me towards the bed.

“With your fickly small healer’s knives?” I yawned as I sat down on the edge of the bed. 

She shook her head sadly and sat beside me, her face more pensive than I had ever seen it. I reached across to take her right hand in my own.

“With a sword. I had to kill. My father was fighting, his back was unguarded.” Her words trailed away into toxic silence.

“Not you too,” I whispered stricken as she turned to face me, the familiar features were lit with the fanatic passion of a true penitent. 

“It was warm, you know, as it splashed on me. Dreadfully hard to jerk the sword back from the failing flesh...” She closed her eyes, “And all along, I could see the horror in his eyes as he fell. He had been one of my acquaintances in that town. I still have the white silk I wore on the day. The crimson has faded to brown, but it is still warm and fresh red in my memories...and in my nightmares.”

“You saved Arafinwë, Artanis.” I spoke mechanically all the while realizing the pathetic futility of it all. “It was the only way. Self-defence has never been a sin.”

She shook her head and rose to her feet. I knew her well. She probably wished no further discussion on the topic. Though reluctant to relinquish the matter, I knew that I could neither say nor do anything to change the past. Already, we had been through emotional havoc many a time this day. 

There had been my temporary lapse of sanity. There had been Russandol’s return from the woods, looking as if he had served as a live feast for the smaller creatures of prey. For a moment, I had been seized with fear that he would probably not last the night too. But before I could even attempt a return to reason, Artanis had squeezed my hand and told me that it was merely exhaustion and a few scratches. My brother too assured me of this. 

But the news that he was well threw open the floodgates of my wrath. I cringed as I recalled his sunken expression as I ranted on about our siblings’ deaths. I remember having slapped him, I remember that he did not even show the least protest, and lastly I remember Artanis separating us, grim resignation on her pale features.

“Maitimo is not recovered completely. But if you wish I shall arrange an audience with Oropher tomorrow morning. You can stand in for Maitimo and ask Oropher for a few days’ shelter,” Artanis ventured nervously as she looked up at me.

“Is he insane enough to even grant such an audience?” I spluttered in astonishment at her far-fetched idea.

It must be true. All of us who were yet alive seemed to be partly mad; even Artanis, who has always been the most stoic of us all. That she would suggest such a thing!

“I am not sure. But it might make a difference and provide a means to stop further bloodletting.” She shrugged as she made to leave the room.

“Where are you going to sleep? This is your marriage bed, you know.” I had to say that and trust her wisdom would deflect any tension on her part at my rather arrogant question. I was worried about the warriors who were merely looking for sport to amuse them; I did not want my cousin anywhere near them.

“It is my marriage bed. And I did have an interesting moment explaining to my orthodox husband why I arrived at the marriage bed with my virtue not intact!” She smiled guilelessly, her mirth lightening her features. I suppressed a chuckle as I imagined the scene.

“I take it you shall have no objections to sharing the bed with me?” I asked languidly as the draught began working its effect on my senses.

“While nothing would please me more than to share the bed with my former lover, I must go and spend the night keeping a watch over his feverish brother. He scares everyone more with his delirious shouts than with his sword. Oropher was asking me to attend to that matter,” Artanis smiled wryly as she extended her hand to me. I pressed my lips lightly on her hand and smiled back amused by her adherence to Noldorin mannerisms that were absurdly out-of-place with our current lives.

×××

 

I was sad to leave our cousin as we made to travel after the winter. I had been lulled into a dream of the past where we would talk for hours on topics ranging from the arcane to the commonplace. 

I had decided not to travel to Cìrdan’s lands, not even to see my own child. My hands were sullied by blood and war. I would not touch my child with those hands. It was terrible enough that the weight of our lineage would fall upon the poor infant. My wife seemed to hold the same opinion as she wrote a letter to me explaining why it would be better for me to stay away.

Russandol did have his protests in the matter. He has always been fond of children. But his sincere fear of provoking my lingering wrath made him never allude to the subject except when Artanis was in our presence. 

On her part, Artanis did not miss a chance to rebuke my brother for his actions that had finally ended my forbearance. It was one of those ironies of life. Your former lover would always defend you. There is something in us that makes us cling to the fond memories of the intimacies shared with a lover. We can rarely despise them.

He would often simply walk away, his features cold and stern. But his regard for her as well as the realization that it would be the last time we might probably live under the same roof made him passively receptive of her harsh words. Often he would stare at her unnervingly as if he was trying to etch her features into memory. It twisted my heart like little else.

It was the day before our departure. Oropher had accompanied Artanis to my brother’s chambers and managed a haltingly spoken farewell. I was too taken aback by his warm wishes. He looked highly uncomfortable, but requited himself with his characteristic austere grace.

Russandol smiled warmly at the scion of a race we had slaughtered few months ago and spoke calmly as if we were still in Aman discussing inane politics, “I do realize that our debts to you shall never be paid, Lord Oropher. I lack belief in deities across the sea, as you may well have predicted. However, May Eru bless you and your line in life, love and afterlife. The prayers of a kinslayer might be ignored. It is too much to hope they are heeded. But I fear that my prayers may bring more harm to you than anything else.”

Oropher looked stunned by the uncharacteristically frank words that held no resentment, grief or hatred of fate. My brother’s voice was filled with warmth and pragmatism, as if he had resigned himself to his lot and found his peace in it. I shuddered and turned away.

×××

 

“It is too much to hope that we will meet again, Artanis.” I murmured as I stepped closer to my horse, my hand still on my cousin’s waist.

She did not reply as she stared at the skies, the golden red sunrays flecking her eyes with a strange hue. I raised my hand to touch a lock of her hair and found myself unwilling to let go. She smiled wanly and gently disengaged my hand and brought it back to fall at my side. 

It was time to leave.

×××

 

My gloom was dispelled by my wariness as I wondered how to deal with my brother. Without a third person to help our conversations, I knew that I would have a hard time of it. Some part of me grieved for what was lost to us. His eyes held a permanent shadow of guilt and regret that had nothing to do with the Thangorodrim.

However much Artanis and I had taken out our wrath on him, I knew that his own anger at his actions would never cease.

It would not do to send us both insane. I managed to gulp down the last of the tasteless broth that one of the warriors had made and wiped my mouth on my sleeve. Despicable manners that would have earned me scandalized looks had I been in my grandfather’s court.

I paused at the flap of his tent and inhaled deeply to bolster my paltry reserves of courage. The same tent that had virtually destroyed his trust in me.

“Russandol,” I called quietly, half-wishing that he was already asleep.

I heard the shuffling of clothes and then silence. He was not asleep. It was folly of me to presume that either of us could sleep ever after in peace.

I clenched my hands nervously and entered. He was standing next to the mattress, his eyes troubled and fatigued. The familiar mask of diplomatic calm had fallen on his features, effectively shutting away all emotions.

I stood there wondering what I would say to him. I still had not forgiven him for misleading us. It cost us our brothers. But he was alive and he was standing across me, which was the only thing that kept me sane.

I sighed as I ran my fingers through my tangled hair, feeling just as skittish and lost as he seemed to be.

“You are nervous.” His voice had the finest tremor as he spoke, his eyes on my fingers.

“And I am to understand that you are not?” I asked irritably.

His eyes met mine for a moment before he explained, “I merely meant to say that you are nervous. That is, you are rarely nervous. One of those rare times when you seem to be nervous...” 

He gave up explaining, to my profound gratitude. I had become increasingly worried about his mental state at his incoherent speech.

As I debated how to enter into a lucid conversation, he said quietly, “I am sorry.”

“Unfortunately, that cannot help us or our dead brothers at this point,” I said with weary anger. “I cannot see that it will achieve anything, my forgiveness the least of all.”

“I would have told you...”he whispered as he examined the guttering candle. “But I found myself scared of approaching you. You did scare me then, you know.” He waved his hand at the tent pegs vaguely. 

“That-”, I began hesitantly as I felt heat rise in my blood.

“I know, I know,” he continued hastily, his grey eyes meeting mine bravely. “I know that it was your right following our changed relationship.” He faltered before continuing, “All the same, I was scared. Then I lost my self-confidence. I wanted to prove to myself that I was the stronger of us.” 

I stared at him dumbfounded as his words sunk in. He frantically waved his hand as he went on seemingly afraid to stop before his courage ran out, “You know that the fear of not being useful always haunts me. I was scared that your actions could frighten me so. I was scared that everyone would know that I was a pathetic parody of the leader they thought I was. To be screaming when my own brother touches me...” he drew in a shaky breath. “I know I am a coward. And I cannot bear that thought.”

How I wished that there was a piece of furniture in the tent, so that I could have supported myself against it. His words pounded my mind, the desperate tone in which he had spoken left me aghast. 

Finally, as the silence lingered on, timidly disturbed only by our uneven breathing, I gathered my wits and spoke quietly, “I am sorry that my actions made you doubt your command over those you lead. It was never my intention. I swore fealty to you, all of us did.”

He shook his head as if the very prospect of doubting my loyalty was disgusting to him. His eyes were clouded by some indiscernible emotion as he stared at the point above my head.

“I am sorry for that night’s thoughtless actions. I am sorry for the night when we were with our cousin and I...” I trailed off wondering if speaking of my actions would simply cause him more hurt.

“Slapped me? No, no,” he assured me hastily as he met my gaze. “I deserved all that. Though the episode of the tent could have been done without. You certainly have the right to express your anger. Even your forgiveness has limits.”

“Yes.” 

I had to agree; I was weary and forlorn. I saw no way to forgive him. Curufin’s black eyes flashed through my mind. And I bit back a bitter accusation. It would not do either of us any good.

“I would try to heal this breach in any way I can. You can express your wrath,” Russandol said frankly, his eyes shining with that strange serenity that I had noticed when he had been speaking to Oropher during the leavetaking. “I will never forgive myself. But I will do whatever I can to obtain your pardon. Slap me, shout at me, anything but a bitter silence, brother.”

“It will take time to heal, brother,” I murmured sincerely. “But you are all that is left to me now and I can do nothing but forgive you.”

There was, after all, nothing else to be done.

×××

 

“You have a letter.” My second came to me bearing an elegantly scrolled parchment.

I saw Cìrdan’s seal on the parchment and sighed. It had been more than nine months. I knew what the news would be. A part of me rejoiced to know that new life could emerge from the haunted ashes of my existence. But the greater part of me hated the idea of burdening that new life with my legacy, however illustrious it once had been.

“I heard that a letter has arrived from the shore. Read it aloud, brother, for I very much wish to hear the news.” My brother came to my side and looked expectantly at the parchment.

I shrugged and sat down on a large boulder. With his feline fluidity of movement, Russandol slid down onto the ground and resting his head against my crossed legs, he arranged himself into a comfortable posture.

I cleared my throat and began reading.

 

“ I remember that once you told me about how your father had yearned for a daughter. I named her Melorian. Every parent is unnecessarily eloquent about their child and I find myself even more so. I wish you were here, but I know you cannot be.”

 

“That is all?” My brother’s voice was incredulous as he looked up at me, his eyes widening in astonishment.

“What were you expecting?” I rolled up the parchment and shoved it safely into my robes.

He shook his head mutely and returned to his contemplation of the spring skies. I sighed, a part of me had expected more. But with the current Sindar hostility, I knew it was unlikely that a longer epistle would have reached our camp.

As I tangled my fingers in my brother’s unruly hair, I wistfully wondered what the colour of my daughter’s eyes was. And her hair...and the musician in me wished to hear the sound of her laughter. The sound of her voice. What would they tell her of her father as she grew up? The truth, I prayed. It would never be fair otherwise. That I am what I have been forced to be is a tragedy that can be surpassed only by my daughter expecting me to be something else.

I knew that my wife was strong enough to bring up our child. She would rather do it alone than join me in this dreary existence. We have always understood each other, Carnilote and I. I am glad for that.

“I did never get around to congratulating you,” my brother murmured as he reached up with his hand to squeeze my fingers.

“We did have other matters to think upon,” I said quietly. 

“I know. But what little nuggets of joy may still be had, it is not fair to let them pass unacknowledged,” he said thoughtfully. “I have found that memories can inspire in me courage, compassion and hope.”

I did not reply. I knew that he was alluding to the memories of our brothers. But the tightening of my fingers in his hair must have told him all that was there to know.

“I never did appreciate them much.” I voiced my greatest torment, “I cared little for them. Perhaps Atarinkë grew closer to me as the years passed. He knew of my...my inclinations and had always been a support. I regret that I did never try to know them.”

“I did care for them. But I know that they would not have appreciated us trying to get to know them more. It was not in their nature. Nolofinwë did try and fail. It was not your fault that you did not know them. Sometimes those closest to us are those we fail to understand and know about.” His words had that same damnably serene quality that made me want to shake him.

“I think that your mind is calmer than it ever was since our parents separated,” I accused, not without a shade of bitterness.

“I am not calm. I just try to achieve the barest pretence of being so. I fear that my grip on sanity is already too tenuous to be tested. A pretence of being detached and calm helps. Artanis advised me. And I have always found that her words are never without merit.” He shrugged as he reverted his gaze to the blue skies.

I did not reply. His frank admission of being but a step away from insanity frightened me more than any delirious raving that he might scream in the throes of his nightmares.

“What do you think of fire, Macalaurë?” His query made me frown in bewilderment. What would have made him think of fire on such a fine spring afternoon?

“It is our father’s element, I have thought. I do not know much of the forge and its fires, you know that well.” I tried to cast about for a lighter topic for his pensive expression did not help me in the least.

“I have thought of it as a cleansing force. It has the property to clean even the most sunken of us of our sins, I feel. It burns, it obliterates and it purifies. It turns the darkest of coal into hallowed glory. I wonder if the fire was enough to clean our father, our uncle, our cousin and many more...”he trailed off pensively. “I wonder how the sky looks from Turkáno’s high tower in his fair city.”

“Stop this talk.” I pushed him off my legs and walked back to the camp. I had no wish to listen to his fanciful conversation. It grated on my nerves and always left me in despair.

“My Lord.” One of our aides approached me. “There is an epistle from your kin in Sirion.”

“Artanis?” I asked as I took the epistle from him. He bowed and moved away.

“Gondolin has fallen. The unacknowledged son of our cousin shall now be High-King of this sorry race. Turkáno died in flames, as his city burnt into ashes.”

I turned my eyes from the merry campfire that burnt in our camp as our warriors roasted game over it. I think that is when I started loathing the element.

×××

* * *

“Elwing’s guard in Sirion will betray the Sindar. We can move.” Russandol’s voice was quiet as he inspected the maps.

“What is the cost of their betrayal?” I asked curiously as I walked to his side and examined the Mouth of Sirion on the map.

“Nothing. They seem to think that the jewel is cursed and want their clan to be rid of it. We are convenient, of course,” he purred. 

His eyes glittered with wry humour as he looked up at me. I smiled utterly charmed by the mischief that shone in his countenance. The last time I had seen something like this it had been in Himring, a lifetime ago.

“And we are invited to plunder?” I looked away as I tried to quench the flare of fiery desire that rose in my loins enraptured by his charm.

“Plunder is an oft misinterpreted word, is it not?” he murmured playfully, his eyes now positively shining with good humour.

I shoved him in mock anger and strode off, unable to prevent the flow of red to my cheeks. He must have noticed it for he called after me something about my features being enhanced by blushing.

Whatever had brought down this good humour upon him, I hoped that it would last. I certainly did not wish to see him falling back into his brooding that had been plaguing him since the fall of Gondolin.

Probably, I looked up at the stars thoughtfully; the assurance of success had put him in such high spirits. I smiled as I glanced back at his tall, lithe frame, bent over the crudely fashioned table as he examined the maps.

×××

 

It had been blood, screams and curses. We had come close enough to touch it. She had dared us to slay her and take it by force. We had seen the greed for the jewel grow lustfully in her eyes. Russandol’s reasoned arguments had not swayed her. She had grown mad and ran off the cliff, her hands holding the jewel high. 

“Come.” My brother was pushing me back towards the door, “There is nothing else for us here.”

“The swine!” I cursed as I wiped my sword on the lacy curtains.

“She was driven mad by the jewel, as our father once was. As Thingol too was. Come, Macalaurë, our work here is done. We have released the jewel into nature, where it belongs.”

“How can you be so damned calm?” I shouted as I spun him around to face me.

He shook his head wearily and dragged me away. Our warriors were still plundering the town. My brother pulled me forcefully and climbed up a small rocky outcrop. 

“Where-?” 

My question was cut off as he shook his head again and led me into a cave. There seemed to be a natural water source somewhere deep within the cave for I saw a stream of water trickle merrily from its mouth.

Russandol turned to face me as soon as we had stepped into the cave. In the dim starlight, his face shone like marble. His eyes were sparkling with life as brightly as one of the cursed jewels we were seeking.

“The end is coming, brother,” he spoke calmly, his eyes boring into my bewildered ones, “Before that I would have you consummate our relationship. I want to be yours, to be made yours. Burn me, meld with me, and forge my spirit anew. My flesh weakens, brother. I know that. I would have this before I grow any weaker.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to exclaim the thousand reasons why we should not pursue that reckless route. But he smiled; a smile that poignantly twisted my heart with its sadness and pain.

But I would not let it be his way.

“I am no smith, brother, as you know well. I cannot forge and mend.” 

I remained where I was, willing my passion into quiescence. For all I knew, this was his reaction to defeat. This had been the only jewel that we could have claimed with ease. We no longer had armies to command and fight Angband. What could be done for the other jewels?

“You have our father’s fire. Even if you had not inherited it, you are still the only soul I have ever wanted,” he said simply as he stepped into a shaft of starlight, his features aglow with his serenity. 

He held out his hand to me, I noticed that his fingers were trembling. I had noticed his sword shake when he had been fighting earlier. He was weakening in health indeed. The fey unassailable foe striking fear in the hearts of those who looked upon his fiery flame in battle was finally weakening under the assault of his long grief and bitter memories. Doriath, he had never recovered truly from it.

I grasped his fingers quietly and moved towards him. He smiled as he gripped my hand and drew me closer. I was only too glad to follow. He sighed as he melted in my arms, surrendering himself completely to the cataclysmic ascent of our passion. There was no fear in his darkened grey eyes that shone as silver in the starlight. He murmured my name over and over again, like a chant, like a prayer, like the very essence of his life. My fingers sought to ease the ordeal. I feared that it would frighten him, but he seemed to have lost himself in the waves of pleasure. 

His head was thrown back, his eyes glistening in the pale silvery light contrasting sharply with the whiteness of his skin and the crimson sheen of his hair, his long neck was taut and his veins pulsed in strain. The arched body that rose to meet me was solid steel under the white skin. 

I held him as he reached the crest and fell limp onto the hard, stony floor. His frame shivered as he recovered from his pleasure. I did not know what to do, but I whispered the inane sweet nothings that I had always stopped from tormenting him with. He may not have heard, but it did me good to tell him of what he was to me. 

A part of me knew that he would be lost to me soon. Perhaps it would break my sanity. I did not care as I lay there, holding him and combing my fingers through his tangled hair.

“Artanis did say--” my words were broken as a furious, possessive mouth claimed my own with a passion that sent shudders through me. 

He broke apart and spoke playfully, his eyes warm and languid with satiation, “I would rather that you did not mention your past lovers while you have just had me. In the future, I will not tolerate it,” his voice was still husky and shaking, all his diplomatic calm had vanished.

It ridiculously filled me with glee, that statement. I spoke carefully, “May I take it as an inference that you plan on more encounters in the future?”

“Certainly, Macalaurë!” he laughed warmly as he pressed his lips to the base of my neck, not making an attempt to resist when my arms held him there, “Your riding skills have never been extraordinary. I may as well as help you with it, if not for your sake, at least for the sake of the horses you mount.”

I smiled seeing the once familiar playfulness lighten his eyes. I was about to remark on it when he experimentally trailed his fingers down my spine. His eyes widened in surprise as I arched against his palm and he hastily pulled back his hand letting it rest on my shoulder.

“I was enjoying it, you know,” I murmured sincerely. He smiled and let his fingers trail down my ribs again, exploring and feeling the skin.

“Would you like to -?” My words were met by a hasty headshake and a kiss to my forehead. 

Before I could speak again, a shadow fell upon us. Alarmed, I reached across for my sword and leapt to my feet putting myself between my brother and the newcomer.

“Did you lose your clothes?” 

A young lad stood there, his features resembling Turkáno rather too closely for my comfort. He was gazing with great interest at my brother’s unclad, sweat sheened form. I frowned despite myself.

“Her son!” Russandol murmured as he pushed my tunic and breeches into my hands. 

“Well, lad, do you have a name?” Russandol asked briskly as he climbed to the lad’s side, wrapping his robes about him, “I hope I am not mistaken in addressing Elwing’s son?”

“My brother is here too. We are to be named by our father when he returns. I found a waterfall and was playing when I heard noises...” he looked at us curiously, “Were you bathing in the stream?”

Russandol glossed over the last statement and patted the boy’s arm saying quietly, “Your mother left Sirion. I am not sure if she will come back for you. Macalaurë, find his brother.”

The simple touch made the lad flinch and ask fearfully, “It’s true. You are the mad prince!”

“Wrong on both, actually.” Russandol was saying as I walked into the cave, hoping to find the brother, “I am not a prince anymore and I have yet some way to go before I am mad.”

Startled laughter met my ears. I had to smile. Even after all that had passed, my brother had a way with people to earn their trust.

“Who is it?” A quiet voice asked as I reached the end of the cave. I could see a chin resting on drawn-up legs, an attitude of resignation.

“Your mother,” I began quietly, “We are not sure if she will return to you.”

“I hope she does not. She deserves death. She clung to that accursed jewel and abandoned us to the Fëanorions!” There was great hatred in his young voice. 

I wistfully remembered the carefree days of my youth. As far as I could think of, I had hated only our cousin, Findekáno. The fact that he occupied a good portion of my brother’s time had not made me inclined to like him.

“Who are you?” the boy rose to his feet and stepped out of the darkness. Grey eyes, I noted, black-grey eyes. It was so different from my brother’s eyes, the legacy of our grandmother.

“Macalaurë Fëanorion,” I said quietly, “We found your brother near the stream. My brother is with him.”

“Did you get the jewel?” The boy’s voice trembled.

“No.” I spat bitterly as I cursed the woman again.

“I am sorry.” 

The boy walked towards me, his face pensive and too wise for his youth. Tears lingered in his eyes and his breath was uneven as his eyes flew to my sword. I shook my head and pulled him into my arms; he shivered and began sobbing into my tunic, clutching my arms in despair. I ran a hand over his dishevelled hair in a bid to soothe him. To my concern, that simply made him sob more. I could sense the pain of being unloved that hung as a cloak about his slender frame.

“Macalaurë?” My brother joined me and stared at the boy I was holding, “I see you have found him. Elros insists that he will come with us. Probably, we can send them to Cìrdan, brother, once we are out of this cursed place.”

“Elros is his name?” I asked dubiously, wondering at the happy smile that lit my brother’s features.

He shrugged saying, “It seemed rather picturesque. The waterfall, the starlight and the boy. Of course, he can choose another if he wishes. I have no knowledge of Sindarin naming traditions. For now, I had to call him something.”

“We are not taking them along!”I hissed in Quenya, “Their guardians will kill us!”

“They have no guardians and I will not leave Turkáno’s descendants to the mercies of nature. It will take time for their people to come here and even then, I worry for their future,” Russandol said quietly, “We will take them to Cìrdan.” He switched back to Sindarin, “Shall we call you Elrond, young Lord?”

The boy had been watching my brother in avid curiosity. When he registered that he was being addressed, he nodded shakily and withdrew from my arms, wiping his face in embarrassment. I shook my head at my brother’s flight of poetic fancy in naming the boys. 

Russandol frowned as the sound of ship horns rung in the air. He glanced at me saying, “We move out now. Our people are gutting the city. Under normal circumstances I would have stopped them. But I find that I am not particularly interested in preserving a city that was home to a couple who found jewels and ships more interesting than their own children.”

He had walked away speaking, I smiled at the boy and pulled him to my side. With a sigh, he clutched my hand and let me lead him out of the cave. Russandol was already at the head of the warriors, Elros before him clutching my brother’s arm tightly. 

“May I ride with you?” the voice was subdued and hesitant, as if sure of the negative answer.

“Of course, Elrond.” I helped him to mount my charger and then leapt behind him, “But my brother accuses that my riding skills are not exceptional.”

“I am sure that we can remedy that by the constant practice that we will be indulging in,” Russandol smiled as he fell in beside us.

“Can you teach us too when you are teaching your brother, My Lord?” Elros piped up hopefully.

I coughed and looked at my brother, who had flushed to the roots of his hair. He cleared his throat and mentioned something about the moonless night.

“What were you doing in the cave without your clothes, My Lords?” Elros emerged from the folds of my brother’s cloak with another question.

“I think I shall not answer any more questions. Now try to sleep, Elros. We have a long way to go,” Russandol said briskly, his eyes averted from mine.

Elrond was mostly quiet, though he would occasionally ask about the wounded soldiers and the limping horses. Compassion and wisdom seemed to give him the silent aura of maturity. Elros, on the other hand, was still brightly questioning my poor brother about everything that he saw. 

Finally, my brother bit back a weary curse and said, “My brother will sing for you, children. You need sleep.”

He looked across at me, his eyes pleading. I had to suppress a smile, but I nodded and began singing softly. As I watched the children nod off to sleep, I sighed and looked at my brother. 

“I do need some incentive if I am to rescue you from their questions the next time,” I remarked.

“I am sure that I could entice you with suitable incentive.” My brother’s voice was damnably silky and confident. I rolled my eyes.

×××

 

“...And then they lied that he couldn’t marry her sister because she loved another. But he was stubborn and refused to do what they wanted....” Elrond was telling me excitedly as he rushed about to help me with the horses.

I bit back a smile at the boy’s almost human impatience. Over time, he had proved that he was every inch as talkative as his brother. Russandol could be often found murmuring about ‘excitable temperament’ and that Elwing had deliberately left them behind. Elrond was closer to me, and often tagged along everywhere I went. The warriors in the camp often teased him about this. But he did not care. Elros, on the other hand, got along well with the warriors and with the men of our acquaintance. 

Russandol had delayed writing to Cìrdan, mainly because my wife wrote to us speaking of Earendil’s quest and its possible success. She advised us to stay low until the uncertainties cleared. Things were coming to an end, but I was not sad. If anything, Russandol’s determination to wring out the maximum from each instant of time we were granted had passed onto me too. I found myself looking for excuses not to think of the dismal prospects awaiting us in the future.

I had been engrossed in a letter from Artanis when Elrond asked me, “Would you be terribly displeased if I were to call you Adar?”

I looked up at him in shock. He went on hastily, his face drained of blood, “I mean, I know that you have a daughter. But I want to call you Adar. You are my father, in all but blood.”

“I would be honoured, though I am sure that I do not deserve it,” I whispered shakily. He smiled and came to embrace me.

×××

 

“May I come in, brother?” Russandol’s voice was tentative. 

We had lacked privacy ever since the boys had joined us. Their inquisitive nature and restless spirits ensured that I could not risk even the fondest of glances at my brother. I chafed at that terribly and was reduced to covertly watching him while the boys’ attention was elsewhere.

“They have retired?” I asked quietly as I let him in. He looked weary to the core, the hunting and trading seemed to be taking their toll on him.

“Gave them a bottle of strong wine. It would have knocked them asleep. They have poor tolerance to wine,” my brother told me happily as he slumped on the edge of my bed in exhaustion.

“I hope you will do something about their headache tomorrow then.” I crouched before him and helped him out of his boots, “Somehow, I feel like slipping a sleeping draught into one of your dishes. You need some rest.”

He mumbled something about sleep evading him as I pushed him back on the sheets. As I regarded his dove-grey eyes that were watching me wearily, I felt a wave of tenderness rise in me. There were hollows under his eyes evincing his recent restless nights.

“I hoped your riding lessons might help me sleep,” he said optimistically, raising his hand towards me with great effort.

“You are exhausted,” my words were in direct opposition to my body’s desires.

“Nonsense,” he said matter-of-factly as he leant forward to drag me atop him.

×××

 

Those days were probably the happiest of my life. Elros and Elrond often dragged us out on ‘outings’ as they called their visits to the woods. I had never much appreciated traipsing about in the forest, but their infectious enthusiasm and my brother’s happiness made me more malleable to these outings. Russandol had become fond of riding and long walks during his days in Himring and did not appreciate being cooped for days within tents. 

I had been sitting on the roots of a large tree, humming softly to myself. Elrond was trying to tend to a supposed limp in his pony’s left foreleg. His concentrated expression made me think once more of Turkáno. Russandol was trying to teach an impatiently fidgeting Elros about the weather. Finally, he gave up with an exaggerated sigh and strode towards me. Elros winked at me and wandered away into the woods, his whistling scaring away the birds.

My brother grimaced in vexation and slumped down at my feet, resting his back against my legs. I glanced across at Elrond to make sure that he was still occupied before bending to press a swift kiss to the lips below me. Russandol startled and looked up at me with plain delight writ on his features. I think that shall remain one of my most treasured memories.

“Can we have some riding lessons in these woods tonight?” He asked hopefully, his voice trembling with anticipation as my fingers trailed about his neck.

“I wonder why you prefer these uncomfortable places to the silks of our beds. But I have no objection,” I said quietly.

“I have never been fond of closed places. They are rather oppressive,” he shrugged as I began combing his unruly hair with my fingers.

“ADA!” Elrond rushed to our side, “Did you see the tourniquet I tied? It holds!”

I smiled, pride surging in my soul as he continued speaking. Russandol had risen and now accompanied him, teaching him gently to tie the tourniquet in a better manner. Watching them, the sun playing on their faces, I could only think that I was blessed.

×××

* * *

“They will not forget their father,” Russandol said soothingly as we watched Ereinion leading Elrond and Elros away.

“That is the least of my concerns regarding them,” I said quietly, even as a part of my mind wanted to run into the castle and find my daughter, “Will they adjust to the intrigues of a court? Elros is a volatile soul. Elrond needs time to fit in.”

“I am sure they will, Lord Maglor,” Cìrdan said smoothly as he joined us on the ramparts, “Now, your wife awaits you. Maedhros,” The mariner turned to face my brother, his features softening as he looked upon Russandol, “Come with me. I would talk with you alone.”

My brother’s fingers brushed my hand before he accompanied Cìrdan into the castle. I sighed as I stared at the receding figures of Ereinion’s escort.

“Husband-mine,” Carnilote joined me. 

I turned to face her. She was alone. I cursed quietly. She had not brought our daughter to me. But my unhappiness was superseded by worry as I took in my wife’s features. The dark brown hair hung limp and dull, as if it was wasting away. Her eyes were shadowed by weariness and there were wispy lines on her face. Frowning in concern, I raised my hand to cup her face. She flinched away, before offering a small smile in apology.

“I am sorry,” I said truthfully. How could she bear my touch when she knew very well that I had betrayed my vows?

“Our daughter is in Lindon, with my family,” she said quietly, “I did not deem it wise for you to meet her now. It will cause too much grief ere the end.”

“I WANT TO SEE HER!” I hissed in fury as I rounded on her, every pore of my body seething with a terrible yearning to see my child.

“Give up the Oath, and you can see her!” My wife drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms above her chest defensively.

“I cannot, you know that!”I glared at her. She had always understood. Why was she bringing up the futile subject now?

“I cannot. She will come to love you if she sees you. How cruel would it be when she grieves for you, if she loses you after barely knowing you?” She gripped my wrist painfully hard, her eyes willing me to understand. 

I sighed as the truth of her words struck my core. She was right. I would not allow my daughter to grieve for me, even if that meant I would never see her.

“As you command,” I murmured in defeat, turning my gaze to the sea.

We stood there silently, the wind playing in our hair. I tried to calm the whirlpool of emotions that thrashed me before asking softly, “What is the colour of her eyes?”

Carnilote uttered a half-sob before speaking brokenly, “Brown. She has brown eyes and brown hair. I am told that she resembles your mother,” she wiped the tears away from her cheeks hastily.

I remained silent, even as my insides howled at the injustice of it all. I wished to see my child, to embrace her, to sing to her, to hold her in my arms, to kiss her cheeks, to tell her bedtime stories, to teach her to ride and so much more... I would have gladly killed myself to just catch a glimpse of her.

My wife was right, though. It was for the best. I would stain their lives with my oath. Which brought to my mind another matter...

“I wish to end our marriage, my dear,” I faced her pensively, not knowing how she would react, “It is not fair to you.”

She was a noble woman. My uncle had chosen well for me. If I had not loved my brother as much as I did, I would have never been such a despicable husband. It was time to end pretences and to set us free.

“I know.”

She smiled wanly before placing her ring finger on my palm. I shuddered as I pulled off the elaborately crafted ring from her finger leaving it bare...and free. I closed my eyes as she returned the favour, with a sad smile kindling her features.

“May Eru hold our bond dissolved,” she whispered as she gazed up at the skies, her eyes lit with fervent plea.

×××

 

“Shall we celebrate?” Carnilote asked me with a coy smile as she poured more wine into my goblet.

We had tarried through supper. Russandol had retired to Cìrdan’s study with a solemn expression on his features. 

“I despise being drunk.” I pushed back the goblet firmly, “It reminds me of Findekáno too vividly.”

“There are rumours of a fleet from the west coming hither. They say that the Valar will pardon the exiles and remove the ban,” she said soberly as her fingers uneasily toyed with the goblet they held.

“Ereinion did speak of it,” I said warily, “But it means nothing beneficial to me.”

“I might sail, if they allow us to return. I am tired.” She rose to her feet, her classical Noldorin features softening into beauty in the torchlight.

“I do love you.” A pitiful sentence that did not even scratch the barest inch of the apology I owed her.

“I know,” she smiled again, though this time there was no weariness in her features, “So do I. If I had not realized that your true love was never mine to claim, I might have ended with a broken heart, Macalaurë. You are so easy to fall in love with.”

I raised my eyebrow at her last line; it struck me as quite dubious. She laughed and leant forward to kiss my lips chastely before withdrawing.

“Spend this night with me, Macalaurë,” she said quietly, her features glowing with earnestness, “Let us celebrate the end of a happy marriage.”

I stared up at her beautiful face in shock. She looked frightened and yet determined; the same mix of emotions that she had worn when she had been waiting in our marriage bed for the very first time.

“One last souvenir of the glorious past we lived in,” she held out her hand to me.

I closed my eyes as the clash of cymbals and the sound of trumpets resounded in my memories. The Era of the Noldor was at an end. She and I were amongst the last remains of a proud race that had left Tirion spurred on by my father’s passionate words. 

×××

 

“You have been preoccupied since we began riding,” Russandol couched his concern in that mild statement as he pulled up his stallion to wait for me.

“I think you share that affliction.” I raised my eyebrow accusingly, “You have been staring at the Vingoltye for too long.”

“I was wondering,” he said pensively, “how a jewel that was within a finger’s distance of us could now be so unreachable.”

“I am more concerned about the fact that none of our scouts have come forward to meet us yet,” I said worriedly as I cast my eyes about for signs of movement.

“No. We shall be riding into the woods, brother,” he said in a voice that was barely audible, “I think it will be safer.”

“You gave orders to our warriors to relocate into the woods?” I asked stridently as I pulled my mount into a stop, “And said nothing of this to me! Russandol, I do demand an explanation!”

He slowed his pace and turned back saying quietly, “I did not ask them to relocate to the woods, Macalaurë.”

“Then?” I caught up with him and watched his uneasy features with rising fear. It was the same expression that I had seen on his face when we had ridden to Doriath.

“I sent them to join Ereinion. The fleet from the west is coming. And there is a strong possibility that the Valar might pardon those that desert us. I could not...”

He dismounted from his mount and walked to my side. I was still staring at him in stunned shock. With a sigh, he placed a tentative hand on my fingers which were entangled convulsively in the mane of my horse.

“I am sorry,” he said unrepentantly, “But I would not let our fate be theirs, when all that they have done is laying down their lives for our cause all these years.”

I exhaled as his features warred between defiance and pleading. His fingers gripped me tightly; his eyes remained on our entwined hands. In the pale moonlight, he looked as if he was hewn from mother-of-pearl, a statue betrayed only by the trembling veins in his throat. There was a slight shiver wracking his frame. He seemed to be feeling the cold more than I did, more than an elf should. 

“I understand.” 

I had to understand, I told myself. I bit my inner cheeks as I thought of the high moral values of those I loved. My wife had refused to let me see our child and I had understood her reasons. My brother had sent our warriors to aid Ereinion. His selflessness would now reduce us to scavengers from nomads. Wrath rose in me, but I quelled the bitter wave with effort. It would not do to think upon it. He had no regrets. 

“Macalaurë?” He asked quietly, his voice uncertain and tinged with a shade of fear.

“I should be glad that you spared our horses,” I sighed as I dismounted and wrapped my cloak around him.

×××

 

“I have always wanted to live this idyllic life, with no wars to plan and no realms to rule,” my brother said quietly as he leant back against the bole of a tree.

“I think it would have been equally possible had we remained in Amon Ereb. At least there would have been a roof over our heads, brother!” I frowned at him as I threw more twigs on the weak fire.

“But then we would have been responsible for the lives of those who fight under us. It is the first time in my life that I feel free of responsibilities,” Russandol shrugged as he held out his hand to me.

“Carnilote knows,” I said quietly as I built the fire higher, taking in his shivering form with worry.

“She is wise. I am glad that you married her...” He pulled the cloak about himself tightly as he paused speaking.

“What are you not telling me, Russandol?” I asked amusedly as the familiar expression of guilt flashed on his features.

“How?” He began uncertainly, his grey eyes shining with amazement.

“Proximity, I daresay!” I laughed and he inclined his head in a chivalrous acceptance of defeat.

“Come here, and I will surrender my secret,” he raised his hand again, his eyes warm and devoid of their usual detachment.

“What you ask is certainly not a hardship,” I smiled as I sat down by his side and placed my hand on his.

He sighed contentedly as I pulled him closer so that our arms touched. I wondered how a soul could love so deeply that the mere presence of the loved one was enough to ignite supreme bliss.

“She did tell me that she was with child again,” he whispered, his hand clenched over mine.

“WHAT?” I shot to my feet and rounded on him, “You are daft, Russandol!” My voice had risen by several octaves and sounded uncannily like my father’s.

“I know you spent a night with her while we were there,” he said quietly, his grey eyes calm and not betraying the slightest sadness at the knowledge that I had spent a night with her.

“She was not fertile!” I hissed, skirting away from the issue of infidelity, “And our bonds were absolved before Eru!”

He rose to his feet and met my gaze sharply as he spoke, “I know nothing about the fertility cycle of women. But I do know that she was with child when we left. Cìrdan will--”

“Cìrdan!” I hissed angrily as I turned away from his gaze, my defensiveness spurring on my vitriolic words, “The succour of our family, he is called! What was the price of his aid? Was it just your body or your--”

A hand gripped my shoulder. I tensed and tried to move forward, but he was stronger. I cursed as he turned me around to face him. I looked into his eyes defiantly. His gaze was haunted by pure unhappiness. I cursed again and used both my hands to shove away his steely grip on my shoulder. He flinched in pain as I twisted his wrist to free myself. I regretted my action almost immediately as his hand fell to his side and he bit back an exclamation of agony.

“Will I be always called a whore?” he whispered.

A sudden commotion rose in the woods to our south and I said tersely, “Be here. I will go and see to this.”

(The Pilgrimage can be read to maintain the flow of narrative)

×××

 

“So you mean to say that we are to thieve them?” 

I spat disdainfully as Russandol examined a roughly drawn map of the camp of the army. Elros had found us, and he had urged us to act immediately before the camp broke. The map was his doing.

I told my foster-son as he helped me to gut a hare, “You should not involve yourself in this. They will never forgive you!”

“I have made my choice. I will not be judged by them,” Elros shrugged confidently, “I have to do this, Ada. There is no other way to fulfil your Oath.”

“You will not be judged,” Russandol looked up quietly, his grey eyes flaming with the wisdom of foresight, just as they had when he had been speaking to Turkáno after the  
Nírnaeth Arnoediad.

Elros raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

“An island surfaced from the depths of the sea, you say,” Russandol rubbed his temples with a sigh, “And it may again be swallowed by the sea. Mayhap, water is better than fire.”**

×××

 

I cursed aloud as I helped my brother to walk. His health had steadily deteriorated in the days we had spent in the woods. I had tried all that I knew to relieve his pain; but it was in vain. I knew he was dying. He was tormented by visions of the past. More than once, he had woken screaming the name of Mandos. He never spoke to me of his dreams, and I did not have the courage to demand that.

After the ugly argument we had regarding my wife’s conception we did not express our regard physically. For one, he was too worn out and reduced to being dependant on my aid for the most basic of needs. Also, I was torn between the harrowing guilt I had in engendering a child and anger at Cìrdan’s regard for my brother.

“At midnight we strike,” My brother said almost inaudibly as he tried to free himself from my hands that supported him.

I closed my eyes as I imagined the final disgrace; thieving the jewels that were ours by right. The Valar have truly reduced us to beggars. My brother’s spirit was tormented by dreams that seemed to be a gift from Mandos. His body had always been more susceptible to the weather after his long captivity. I gritted my teeth at this calculated insult that Manwë had bestowed on the heir of Fëanor; Russandol would never die on the battlefield.

“It is not so bad,” my brother’s voice broke into my thoughts.

“Forgive me for not being optimistic; but it is bad,” I said angrily as I helped him lean against a tree.

He made a strained effort to smile before bracing himself into an easier posture. A faint rustle to our left made me snarl and draw my sword. A woman stood there, her features shining resplendently as the stars above us. I gasped even as I moved defensively to shield my brother. I knew her; I had seen her standing beside her bonded-mate on the raised platform at the festival in Tirion where it had all begun.

“Peace, I come not as your foe,” she said in that melodious voice untouched by time.

I stood where I was, willing myself to not fall before her feet and beg her for my brother’s life. 

“Stand aside, Macalaurë,” my brother murmured gently, his fingers brushing my wrist in a gesture of reassurance.

“I mean no harm,” she said softly as I remained standing where I was, “I swear it by Eru, Canafinwë Fëanorion.”

The name of Eru made me sigh and step aside so that she could see my brother. She walked slowly towards him, her eyes glittering with some indiscernible emotion.

“We shall never have your pity, My Lady,” Russandol said wearily, “Not after all that you have wrought on our family.”

“I come with no pity. I come with grief. Much has been destroyed by that was not your fault. I come to make amends as I can,” she said quietly, daring to extend her hand to my brother, “Will you accept my reparation?”

“I am dying, and I will soon join Melkor in the Void,” Russandol said matter-of-factly even as I flinched at his tone, “I would be, of course, honoured to convey a message if you wish.”

She gasped and took a step backward, but then recovered her equanimity as she spoke in a sad tone, “I will do all that is in my power to save you from the eternal darkness, Prince Nelyafinwë.”

“It is too late, My Lady Varda,” he said quietly, “What is that you wished of me? If it is something that I can do, I will.”

Her features convulsed for the barest of moments before she spoke firmly, “The jewels must not return to Valinor. Claim them.”

“We intend to. Eonwë has spurned our messengers,” I said angrily, “We will not relinquish our oath.”

“Hold, Macalaurë,” Russandol said sternly as his gaze met Varda’s, “There is more than a mere desire to make amends. Speak the truth, Lady. I will die ere dawn, but I will not die a fool.”

Varda sighed as she averted her gaze to her stars.

“He loved the light. He craved the light,” she spoke in a whisper as memories haloed her, “I would do this for him. I would bring the light into the darkness beyond the Door of the Night.”

“If I claim the jewel and willingly embrace my death, thus carrying its light to the void where I shall be condemned to,” Russandol’s voice remained as calm as it was whenever he engaged in diplomacy; but I could see the horror in his grey eyes, “Then what shall you grant us?”

She met his eyes bravely, her form shining with the love that she bore for the fallen Vala condemned to the Void. She did not speak, but Russandol frowned and nodded, his eyes widening in understanding.

“Thus be it,” he said quietly as he bent to press his lips to her hand.

×××

 

“She is lending you her strength,” I said flatly as he jauntily walked ahead of me.

“Wise brother-mine,” he smiled as he turned to face me, “Is that not beneficial to us at this hour?”

“The Valar never give without claiming payment thrice over,” I hissed with suppressed fear, “What did you promise her?”

“Do not worry,” he said simply as he gripped my arm, “It is nothing I will regret.”

“You rarely regret anything you do. It is my lot to grieve after you reap the consequences of your actions!” I said accusingly. “And now, I must follow you to thieve our father’s creations all the while knowing that you will not live out the night!” I stopped walking and sighed, “Do you think that I will survive your death, Russandol? I doubt it.”

He came to my side and dropped his sword. We could see the lights of the campfire before us. It was time, I reminded myself. It was time to finally discharge our oath. I should not put my grief for my brother above the oath. I could not afford that.

He brought his lips to mine and kissed me with desperate passion. I stiffened a moment before gripping his waist and drawing him against me. He broke his lips from mine and stared into my eyes. I felt my throat burn; the burning extended to my eyes. I swallowed but I could not prevent the hot tear that escaped me, no more than I could stifle the harsh sob that broke from my mouth. 

His grey eyes shone with the only emotion that they would have when they beheld me; love without regret. I raised my trembling fingers to trace his lips as he spoke, “There are only six things that are essential to my life. Air,” his heated breath brushed my ears and I quivered, “Water,” he continued speaking as he pressed his lips to taste the solitary tear on my face, “Fire,” he kissed me and drove his tongue into the hot cavern of my mouth, “Fragrance,” he whispered as he buried his face in my hair and inhaled deeply, “Colours,” he clenched a fistful of the cascade of our entwined hair, a profusion of red and black, “And music,” he brought his lips again to mine to swallow my low moan as our bodies toppled to the ground with him atop me.

“Now,” I whispered as I kissed his temple.

“I cannot,” his eyes shone with moisture held back by his will, “We must move now. It is time.”

×××

 

“Throw it and return to me!” I was on my knees as I begged him. The one I held was burning my fingers, but I did not care. I barely felt the pain. All that mattered was that he stood before the chasm, his hand holding the jewel to his breast, his features contorted by pain.

“No, my strength fails me,” he whispered. “I would die with as much dignity as is left to me. I will not die a cripple, burdening you till the end.”

“CONFOUND YOUR PRIDE!” I screamed as he inhaled deeply. His grey eyes met mine with not even the least of regrets shadowing them.

“Ah, my dearest Macalaurë!” he said softly, his eyes roving over my frame as if devouring me into his memory, “Pride; Pride may well have been our downfall. But without pride we would never have scaled the heights we did.”

“Russandol.” 

I rose to my feet numbed by the sight of him against the inky blackness of the night. He stood as one who would never bow to fate, as one who can never be destroyed by the Gods beyond the sea.

×××

 

The 3rd Age.

“Do you hate yourself as you once did? For the direction in which your heart took you?” Artanis asked me as we stood on the harbour.

“I did, until I saw him at the end.” I embraced her and buried my face in her golden tresses, her arms gripped my waist tightly as we stood there waiting for the boat that would carry me to the white ship moored in the shallow waters.

“I will never have the courage that you did. To have seen him at the end,” Artanis said brokenly.

“I am glad that I did,” I said quietly as I drew back and met her sapphire gaze. “For at the end, he stood a living embodiment of all that he proudly believed in.”

“The laws of the Gods cannot rule the passions of our hearts.” Her eyes shone with renewed hope as the vessel that was to carry me drew into the docks. “I will fight for that, Macalaurë. I will fight till the end. I will win for us.”

And I boarded the ship that would carry me to the lands of my carefree youth; those early days when I had little else to do than seek my brother’s favour. I did not turn back to look upon the lands enriched by the flesh, blood and tears of all those I had loved. I would not turn back. Artanis would lead our cause there. I would sail and meet my fate. 

×××

 

The skies exploded into a riot of colours as the sun kissed the sea on the horizon. Hues of red, gold and deep scarlet; I closed my eyes. The seawind caressed my frame as my brother’s unruly crimson tresses once had.

Air, water and fire; the wind, the sea and the sun.

Fragrance and colour; the salty scent of the sea and the marriage of hues on the skyline.

And music; the clamour of the winds did not dampen my proud voice as it rose in a song from the depths of my soul calling him to me.

* * *

_Here ends The Journal of Maglor, Son of Fëanor._

* * *


End file.
